


The Persistence of Memory

by BobBQ



Series: Grauberg Codex [1]
Category: Mahou Shoujo Madoka Magika | Puella Magi Madoka Magica
Genre: Akuma Homura, Being Homura Is Suffering, Eventual Happy Ending, F/F, Kyubey is Awful, Madokami, Post-Rebellion Story, Suspense, Yuri
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-22
Updated: 2016-04-22
Packaged: 2018-06-03 20:10:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 31,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6624511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BobBQ/pseuds/BobBQ
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To strike down a devil is no small feat, but to help her stand up again is greater still. Stormclouds gather on Mitakihara's horizon as those who rule above and below maintain an uneasy peace, dispatching loyal servants into a troubled world. When one story ends and another begins, the only way forward is together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Persistence of Memory

**Author's Note:**

> A oneshot that got out of control. I have no regrets. Title pinched from Salvador Dali.
> 
> Originally published on FFN starting on 10/16/2014.

_The Persistence of Memory_

"Sayaka-chan? You have a letter."

It's exactly like the others: a plain white envelope, impeccable penmanship, no return address. Sayaka sequesters herself in her bedroom before opening it. Inside is a single sheet of folded paper, written in the same hand. Every line she reads brings a greater sense of oppressive familiarity, like picking up an unhappy book that she hasn't touched in years.

When she's done, she takes the collection of letters and spreads them across her bed. Each one is a variation on a common theme, cryptic fragments from a scrambled diary. The story Sayaka pieced together from them is one she knows and yet doesn't know, and it chills her to the core. It also confirms one thing she already knew without knowing why: the blame for all of this lies with her classmate and nemesis, Akemi Homura.

* * *

Kyouko is waiting halfway up the cherry tree boulevard when Sayaka arrives. The redhead has made an effort to dress up and look nice for a change, though the effect is spoiled by the way she's stuffing her face with junk food. Normally Sayaka would just shrug and shake her head at the spectacle. Today's it's different.

The anonymous letters paint a different portrait of Sakura Kyouko: a selfish, callous, itinerant orphan. Circumspect words hint at a past history between her and Sayaka, a relationship far less cordial than the one they enjoy here. It seems crazy even to herself, but that other Kyouko now feels more real than the one Sayaka came to meet. As the thought crosses her mind, another figure enters her vision and she begins to glare unconsciously.

Homura notices. "Is something the matter?" she asks coolly.

"You..." The blue-haired girl's hands ball into fists. "This is your doing, isn't it?"

"Ah, you figured it out." Homura tips her head. "Then it's time to start over."

"Start... over?" Sayaka bares her teeth. "Don't screw with me, _transfer student."_

Too late she realizes her carelessness, that she's played straight into her enemy's hands. "You shouldn't speak like that," says the devil idly. "It would be bad if _she_ heard you." With a cruel smile, Homura softly claps her hands once. "Now then... What did you need, Miki Sayaka?"

"I..." It was there a moment ago, right on the tip of her tongue, and now it's gone. All that remains is the lingering conviction that Akemi Homura once again has made a fool of her.

Homura flicks her hair. "I guess it wasn't important." The smile twists, as if she wants to look sincere but doesn't know how. "Enjoy your date."

* * *

"Sayaka-chan? You have a letter."

It's exactly like the others: a plain white envelope, impeccable penmanship, no return address. Sayaka sequesters herself in her bedroom before opening it. Inside is a single sheet of folded paper, written in the same hand. Every line she reads brings a greater sense of oppressive familiarity, like picking up an unhappy book that she hasn't touched in years.

When she's done, she takes the collection of letters and spreads them across her bed. Each one is a variation on a common theme, cryptic fragments from a scrambled diary. The story Sayaka pieced together from them is one she knows and yet doesn't know, and it chills her to the core. It also confirms one thing she already knew without knowing why: the blame for all of this lies with her classmate and nemesis, Akemi Homura.

Sayaka's jaw tightens. It's insane, and it makes perfect sense. _That... that **bitch!** She's been messing with me the whole time!_ She starts towards the door, visions of cornering Homura for a public calling-out flashing before her eyes.

_Wait._

Sayaka stops in her tracks. She isn't sure how she knows, but she does know: a showdown is precisely what Homura wants from her. It feels like a premonition, except for the maddening certainty that the outcome she anticipates has already happened somewhere, somehow. That's impossible, isn't it?

_She couldn't be..?_

The girl looks over her shoulder at the letters on the bed, a minute or more passing as she wrestles with her conundrum. Finally she turns and goes back, and starts to read them all again. Some of the denser passages unravel when viewed through the lens of this new paradigm, though it doesn't help Sayaka's mood. If that's the kind of game it is, what can she do against her tormentor?

She sits and thinks for a while, then goes to fetch a pen.

* * *

"Sayaka-chan? You have a parcel."

First a couple of bizarre letters came, now there's a padded manila envelope. Like them, it has a local postmark and no return address. The label, however, appears to have been written by Sayaka herself, and the envelope holds a ruled notebook of the exact brand and color she favors. Its contents are in the same vein as the letters, twisted and ominous.

_Did I... mail this to myself?_

Even if it's the obvious conclusion, she has no recollection of doing so. Comparing the notebook with the earlier missives, Sayaka identifies portions which are duplicated and others which are new. The hands of the clock on the wall trace broad arcs as she reassembles the puzzle pieces. Confusion gives way to anger, cooling into numb dejection. She's trapped and she knows it.

She spends the rest of the afternoon brooding, until Kyouko comes over and gives her something else to think about.

* * *

"You coming or not?"

Standing in front of the dresser, Sayaka finishes buttoning her pajamas. "I'll be right there."

Kyouko shifts her legs, the bed's covers rustling. "I've been looking forward to this all week," she complains. "I even skipped going to the arcade so I could get my homework done sooner."

"I know." Sayaka was looking forward to it too, before the notebook came. Now she can't look at her girlfriend without thinking of the other Kyouko, the one she doesn't remember.

The one who was never with her like this.

She climbs into bed, Kyouko snuggles up beside her, and it's not long until the only sound to be heard is the redhead snoring. Sayaka wants to join her but can't. Her mind won't stop going back to the notebook, clawing in the dark for some clue she hasn't found yet.

The minute hand is three short of midnight when her eyes, which were finally closing, pop wide open. She should have thought of that sooner: it's not only the notebook's contents which matter, but its very _existence_ as well. Did Homura know about it and let it arrive anyway? Did she tamper with it? Or has Sayaka found a loophole, a way to preserve what her enemy erases?

That idea gives a glimmer of hope, enough to anchor her flagging spirits. If she left a record for herself once, she can do it again. More letters will come and she'll write them down... And maybe, just maybe, she'll find a way out.

* * *

"I think Saotome-sensei is losing it," Sayaka declares. "Be careful not to date guys who demand you shave all your body hair? Does she even think about who she's talking to?"

Lunch on the roof with Madoka is a special exercise in awkwardness. No fault of her own, bless her heart. It's just that wherever Kaname Madoka goes at school, Akemi Homura is never far away. Sayaka often finds it easier to eat with Kyouko alone, or with Hitomi and Kyousuke, than put up with Homura's lurking presence. Now, however, she has an incentive to endure.

"It must be hard," says Madoka sympathetically. "To be single at her age..."

Ever since Madoka transferred into their class, Sayaka has had an unshakable feeling that something is out of order. Her conscious memory tells her she didn't get along with Homura even before then. Her subconscious, conversely, insists the person who first took a seat that day was not Madoka.

"That's why you gotta hook up young!" Kyouko sucks up the last of her juice with a gurgling noise. "If it weren't for me, Sayaka here would be just as bonkers."

"Hey!" Sayaka swats at the girl beside her. "If it weren't for me, _you_ would be some kind of delinquent glutton! And you'd fail all your classes!"

The notebook and letters confirm one fact explicitly: the real outsider is Homura, not Madoka. A sleight of hand has taken place, a subterfuge that only Sayaka noticed. And so she sits with them, pretending to be her usual brash self while she looks and listens for any scraps that can help her.

Patience, she has learned, is sometimes a virtue.

"That wouldn't be as bad as you moping over – ah!" Kyouko jumps to her feet. "Mami, wait up!"

Sayaka watches her run towards a passing upperclassman with blond corkscrews and an elegant bearing. She doesn't know Tomoe Mami as well as Kyouko does, and at the same time knows her too well. The letters tell of a different Mami, a desperately lonely girl who hid her insecurity behind a polished facade.

Madoka's attention has not strayed so far. "You two really are close, aren't you?"

"Well, yeah." Sayaka forces herself to laugh. "I have to keep her out of as much trouble as she gets me into, after all."

"Madoka," Homura interrupts quietly. "You haven't returned Nakazawa-san's book yet, have you?"

"Eh..?" The pink-headed girl bolts upright. "Oh no! I forgot all about it!" Hurriedly she packs up her lunchbox. "I'll see you back at the classroom, Homura-chan, Sayaka-chan!"

Madoka runs away. Kyouko is still talking to Mami, and Sayaka has a pretty good idea of what comes next. As of yesterday, the number of letters she received is equal to the number recorded in the notebook.

Homura placidly finishes her own food and closes the lid. "You aren't enjoying our game," she remarks, as if complaining about the weather. "I'll have to make the new one more challenging."

Sayaka has done all she can. Now all she can do is to trust in her preparations. "Bite me, transfer student."

The devil smiles and claps.

* * *

Sayaka finds Kyouko in one of the arcade's side alcoves, playing _Street Fighter XI_ instead of her usual dancing game. "You're late," says Kyouko, not looking away from the screen. "Something happen?"

"Sorry," the new arrival replies. "I had to make an unexpected stop." Actually several unexpected stops, but she can't talk about that. "I'll treat you."

"Really? Awesome!" The Pocky stick in the corner of Kyouko's mouth wags up and down. "Gimme a minute, okay? I heard there's a secret ending if you get a perfect score with this character."

"Sure..." Sayaka could use a breather anyway. She instinctively checks their surroundings, mindful that a roving custodian might see Kyouko flagrantly violating the establishment's posted rules. For the moment, it's all clear. While her companion happily hadoukens a foe into orbit, she sits back and reviews her progress.

Two letters came in the mail today. One was just plain weird, the second of its kind in as many days. The other was a to-do list, written by Sayaka for Sayaka. It led her on a scavenger hunt across town, retracing her own steps to pick up a series of stashes. Their contents, neatly wrapped in plastic and duct tape, are now secure in her school bag: a notebook, sheaves of photocopied paper, and digital memory cards.

"C'mon," Kyouko mutters. "Almost got it... Bingo!"

 _"It's useless!"_ a synthesized voice proclaims. On the screen, the player's avatar is getting the crap beaten out of him. _"ZA – WARUDO!"_

Kyouko tries to counter and discovers the controls don't respond. Her character's demise concludes with a falling steamroller. "Wha... wha... what the hell kind of secret ending is _that!?"_

"It's the you've-played-long-enough ending." Sayaka reaches over, breaks off the exposed length of Pocky and sticks it in her own mouth. "...Raspberry?"

She doesn't know where this path will take her, guided by messages she can't remember sending, but she does know she has a lot of reading to do when she gets home. It's going to be a long night.

* * *

"Sayaka-chan? You have a parcel."

She expected the last of the letters. What she got was a white cardboard box, small yet heavy, addressed in the usual handwriting. Sitting at her desk, Sayaka cuts the tape and finds a paper tucked under the lid. The final message closely follows its predecessors' pattern, though these words no longer have the desired effect. Thanks to her past self's diligence, she's been able to study the letter's prior iterations with time to spare. The author's purpose is clear already: to end the game by goading Sayaka into reckless action. She won't fall for it again.

On the other hand, receiving a box is new and that could be a problem. Sayaka puts the sheet aside and tackles the inner cocoon of bubble wrap, slowly uncovering an object she would never have anticipated. For a second she thinks it must be a toy, one of those airsoft things that shoot plastic pellets. Then she tries to pick it up and feels the heft of real steel.

_No way..._

The Desert Eagle has seen better days. Its muzzle is ringed with a gray deposit of carbon fouling and there are brown stains on the trigger and the front of the grip. Gingerly turning it over, Sayaka notices something odd: rows of scratch marks on the frame below the barrel, too clean and consistent to be accidents. She does a quick tally and comes to a total of eighty-nine.

The magazine is wrapped separately, carrying a single cartridge with a fat hollowpoint bullet. Sayaka scrutinizes its details, finding none of interest, and lays it next to the letter. Then she goes back to the pistol itself, testing the grip's fit. It's awkwardly large, of course, but the act calls her attention to something noteworthy. The rust spots on the frame are a near match to her own fingers, impressions of a hand smaller than the weapon was designed for.

The hand of a girl like herself.

A thought stirs at the back of her mind, another phantasm of missing memory. Something about girls fighting? In spite of how much they reveal, the letters have never spelled out what she and the others actually _did_ before Homura interfered. For all Sayaka knows, maybe they were protecting the world as pretty warriors of love and justice.

_Why would she want us to forget?_

Sayaka has no answer, and it doesn't seem as if examining the handgun will deliver more insights. In any case she can't afford to dwell on such questions now. According to her reconstructed timetable, the game master will wipe her memory and start again tomorrow. She has a lot to do still, and not a lot of time to do it.

First she needs to get her smartphone and take some pictures...

* * *

This is the craziest thing Sayaka has ever done. The craziest she can recall, at least.

The cherry boulevard is crowded with students in uniform. Just like herself, except she's the only one packing a magnum in her bag and that's not even the worst part. What really worries her is having to act on the assumption that this is what Homura wants her to do, assuming Homura is assuming Sayaka hasn't caught on to her machinations. That's more assumptions than Sayaka is comfortable with.

The irony is not lost on her. _When did I become so cautious?_

Homura is in the middle of the boulevard, sitting at a table with an umbrella. Fittings from an outdoor cafe don't belong on the route to school, and yet no one else acknowledges the incongruity. Is Sayaka the only one who can see it? She watches Homura toy with the straw in her drink, murky purple and a slice of lemon. Sure enough, it looks like the devil's presence is for her eyes only.

Fine, then. If that's the case, there's no need to hold back. Sayaka steps forward, unzipping the bag as she closes the range to point blank. Five paces left, four, three, and then she draws the massive pistol from concealment. Homura starts to turn just as she extends her arm and jams the muzzle against the side of the seated girl's head.

_Click!_

Suddenly the gun, the girl and the table aren't there anymore. Sayaka's not surprised, though her empty hand clenches. From behind her comes a single clap.

* * *

Sayaka spent more time in the school library today than she did in the past month, ransacking the catalogs and shelves like an exam crammer. Her search netted a smorgasbord of material, too much to take home all at once. It's already late afternoon when she finishes paring down the selection and checks out, carrying Sunzi and Clausewitz sandwiched between primers on theology, quantum physics and literary analysis.

The sky is on fire, the cherry boulevard deserted. Kyouko will be mooching at Mami's tonight, leaving Sayaka free to dive into her self-improvement program. It would have been nice to go along, and not just for the tea and cake, but socializing will have to wait for now. There will be other opportunities to get better acquainted with Mami...

A clammy chill seeps around Sayaka's legs. She looks down as a dense mist swirls over the paving stones, swept forward by a cold wind. Where did that come from? She turns back towards the school, finding it swallowed up by an advancing wall of fog. Instinct tells her to run, to get away from the sinister phenomena as fast as she can. Her muscles respond sluggishly, as if sapped by the encroaching vapors, and the best she can do is a stiff march.

Then she puts her foot down and there's no ground under it.

Sayaka pitches headlong into the chasm, throwing up her arms in a protective reflex. She lands on her stomach, the heavy book bag slamming into her chest. Her eyes water as she fights to get her breath back, forcing herself to get up again. The strange fog, she realizes belatedly, has stopped moving closer. Even so, Sayaka keeps a wary watch as she sorts herself out. After several seconds, she dares to look away and take stock of her situation.

She's standing inside a trench cut into the ground, deep enough to shelter a tall man. The bottom is lined with a plank boardwalk, the sides shored up by sandbags and rough hewn timber. This must be a new trick on Homura's part, something found in neither the letters nor Sayaka's notes. She feels her pulse start to quicken and thinks of the advice she wrote for herself, every time she mailed the key to her secret stashes: don't panic, don't get angry, and don't give up.

The heavens have turned a menacing gray color, the kind that precedes hard rain, and the chill lingers. With the fog at her back, there's no way to go but straight on. The trench zigzags at fixed intervals, preventing Sayaka from seeing very far ahead. Wood creaks underfoot with each step, the insistent wind murmuring in her ears.

_"Hänschen klein ging allein in die weite Welt hinein..."_

A rhyme in a foreign tongue, sung by a childish chorus, comes to the blue-haired girl. It's a singularly eerie addition to an already foreboding ambiance.

_"...Stock und Hut steht ihm gut, ist gar wohlgemut..."_

The singers, whoever they might be, aren't far off. Sayaka hesitates, tempted to turn around and brave the fog after all. One look at it dissuades her.

_"...Doch die Mutter weinet sehr, hat ja nun kein Hänschen mehr!"_

The trench widens just past the next corner, with a raised step built into either wall. Sayaka climbs up one side and peeks over the top.

_"'Wünsch dir Glück!' sagt ihr Blick, 'Kehr' nur bald zurück!'"_

Outside the trench lies a lifeless vista of cratered mud and barren trees. Gigantic tethered balloons, shaped like stuffed animals, float in the shrouding mist. She searches for landmarks, anything to orient herself in the wasteland. No good. Even if this is still Mitakihara Middle School, it's been ravaged beyond comprehension.

_"Sieben Jahr trüb und klar Hänschen in der Fremde war..."_

The singing goes on, apparently originating from some of the nearer craters. There's no visible movement in any direction, no discernible threat at hand. Sayaka steps down and resumes her walk, treading lighter now. The trench soon reverts to its original width. After another few turns, Sayaka arrives at a fork with a pair of signs.

[PAPA IST WÜTEND →]  
[← MAMA WEINT]

She goes left. The decision proves irrelevant, as the branch turns inward and reunites with its twin after several meters. The path is the same, the choice illusory, the exit elusive. And that makes her remember... what? The thought is gone before she can seize it, leaving only a vague impression that she's been here already. Not _here_ , not in this trench but in a place like it, another otherworldly realm superposed onto mundane reality. Try as she might, she can't bring back the details.

Past the next zigzag, Sayaka finds an oblong pink and white object mounted on one of the parapets and steps up for a closer look. Even then, it takes her a moment to recognize the thing as a machine gun with spade-handle grips, formed entirely out of cake and icing. A wrapped present, its top ripped open, feeds a belt of colored candles into a slot on the side. Near by sits a shallow box of ice cream cones, each carrying a message spelled out in chocolate syrup.

VOR GEBRAUCH SPRENGKAPSEL EINSETZEN

The further she goes, the stranger the going gets. If Homura wanted to freak her out, she's almost succeeding. Sayaka is about to climb down when she notices the top of the gun-cake is marked with pink frosting.

ERIKA  
13 JAHRE

Moving on, she discovers another machine gun pointed in the opposite direction. Then another and another, fixed on alternating sides. Just when she's getting used to the pattern, it changes. The trench becomes choked with dirt and splintered wood, its bulwarks collapsing inward. Sayaka picks her way over the debris and emerges onto the lip of a crater big enough to swallow a bus. A grave marker, a simple cross with painted lettering, juts from the disturbed soil at the bottom. One corner is broken off, obscuring part of the text.

LILI MARLENE  
Geb. am 17. Mai 20__  
Gef. am 22. Jun______

On the other side of the grave, a flash of color catches Sayaka's eye: a large piece of paper pinned under a split plank, one ragged corner fluttering. She crosses the depression to check it out. It's a poster, ripped halfway down the middle. Most of the spread is taken up by a picture of a catlike animal, one white paw raised to point at the viewer. There's also a slogan splashed across the lower third.

AUCH DU SOLLTEST EIN **MAGISCHES MÄDCHEN** WERDEN

Sayaka stares at the creature, with its round red eyes that seem to drill right through her. She _knows_ that face, and it fills her with a visceral antipathy. Why, though? What reason would she have to hate something that looks like a fluffy mascot?

The cross falls over. Sayaka turns just in time to see it disappear as the crater's bottom caves in. Fog erupts from the open sinkhole, flooding the basin. She bolts, shoes tearing into the slope, but the vapors overtake her before she makes it to the rim. Her limbs grow numb, heavier with each step.

_Come on, come on, come ON!_

The ground levels off beneath her feet, soft dirt giving way to hard stone, and an orange glow diffuses around her. The mist abandons its attack, dispersing even quicker than it appeared. All that's left is blessed warmth and sunlight and one very confused girl. She's at the far end of the boulevard from where she started, and the school and city are as they should be. Everything has returned to normal.

No. Not everything.

Sayaka's uniform is rumpled, her bag scuffed where she fell on it. The soreness that persists in her arms and ribs isn't imaginary.

_"Häns-chen klein... ging al-lein... in die wei-te Welt hin-ein..."_

* * *

On the outskirts of Mitakihara there is a certain park, and in that park there is a certain hill. If one follows the winding paths to its peak, one can enjoy a spectacular panorama of twenty-first century Japan's finest urban engineering. Sayaka knows this much already, having made the ascent plenty of times. She's never gone by herself in the middle of the night, however, not even on a dare or an amorous liaison. Now that's changed, thanks to the letters. There's something important about this place and she's intent on finding it.

It's a good thing the footpath lights are on, otherwise she might have walked straight off a cliff. One side of the hill is missing, sliced from top to bottom with impossible precision. Sayaka scarcely believes it even after touching the cloven edge with her own hands. There's no trace of machinery, no scars left by digging tools. What other force could possibly do this? She thinks of the trench, so tangible and yet gone in a blink. If Homura can create something like that, can she vanish untold tons of solid earth as well?

Sayaka backtracks to a safe distance from the precipice, turns and cuts straight up towards the summit, making her way under the cool blue glow of the sculpted fixtures. A half moon shines weakly through thin overcast. Grass whispers and sighs in the caress of a pleasant breeze.

Whatever she thought she would find at the top, it definitely wasn't Akemi Homura.

The devil sits in a straight-backed chair beside the abyss. She watches over her domain in silence, the metropolis so bright and vibrant and totally ignorant of its master. Sayaka starts to back away, but the long stalks ensnare her feet and she stumbles. Homura's head whips around. For a fleeting moment, honest surprise breaks through the inscrutable mask. Then it's gone. "Why are you here?"

"I, uh... I heard there was a great view in the dark." This is true, albeit not Sayaka's real motive. She's here now because the final letter, the one that pointed her to the hill, only came today. In hindsight, she should have just copied it down and waited until after the game's next reset. Her secret ought to be secure since she mailed the stash key this afternoon, but tonight's expedition will be a waste of time if Homura alters her memory ahead of schedule. "I'll leave if you want," she offers lamely.

"That won't be necessary." Homura rises, the clouds parting as if by her command. Moonlight casts her features in harsh relief as she beckons her classmate closer.

Closer to Homura is not where Sayaka wants to be right now, not that she has much choice. She comes forward, narrowing the gap to a few paces. Homura raises her left hand and an article takes shape: an obsidian crown with an amethyst core. Sayaka would compare it to a regal paperweight, were it not so audaciously defying gravity. That's as far as her train of thought gets before Homura does a pirouette, the crown circling at shoulder height.

"Choose the tune."

"Huh?"

"You have similar tastes to Kamijou-san, do you not? I'm sure you can think of something suitable."

Sayaka is _so_ not prepared for this. It's probably a safe bet Homura doesn't care for Saint-Saëns or Stravinskiy. So what kind of music does she like? For that matter, what kind of _anything_ does she like? At school she's utterly indifferent to any recreation Sayaka can think of. As for her private life, second-hand sources provide much gossip and minimal substance.

_Nutcracker._

Sayaka seizes hold of that idea, a random whim that's not random at all. She can't put her finger on the reason, but to appease Homura with Chaykovskiy's ballet really feels most fitting. She hums the opening notes of the abridged suite and the devil responds, long hair streaming as she twirls over the grass. Sayaka falters, caught off guard, and sees displeasure in those violet eyes. With haste she picks up the melody once more, swishing her arms to the tempo.

It must be a peculiar sight: one girl dancing in her school uniform, the other conducting an invisible orchestra in tracksuit pants and a windbreaker. Sayaka does pretty well, all considered. She slips up a few times and performs the third and fourth parts out of order, but otherwise manages to reproduce the complete twenty minute opus from memory. Kyousuke would be proud.

Satisfaction at this accomplishment is cut short when Homura ends her half of the act with a flourish and curtsey. To pile one surprise on top of another, she almost looks as if she might have enjoyed the impromptu duet.

It could be thanks to lessons learned in the game, or merely a lack of the customary antagonistic air between them, but Sayaka is viewing Homura differently now. At this instant the person facing her is neither the aloof model student nor the architect of her own personal hell. Instead, what she sees in the moon's pale radiance is emptiness and exhaustion.

_You shouldn't look like that._

A strange sentiment to hold for one's nemesis. Sayaka doesn't discount it, though, because it comes from the same place as her musical offering and the deja vu she felt in the trench. At times like this, echoes of lost history carry more truth than deceitful recollections of a fabricated world.

Homura turns to gaze at the moon, seemingly content with letting Sayaka make the next move. The gem at the bottom of her salamander earpiece swings like it's waving to get attention. Did she always wear that gaudy thing? Sayaka's memory says yes but she doesn't trust it. Intuition tells her the ornament may be a post-meddling addition, same as the bags under Homura's eyes. Come to think of it, why hasn't anyone said anything about those? As far round the bend as she is, even Saotome Kazuko wouldn't normally overlook one of her students being in such obviously poor health.

Then again, Sayaka herself only just noticed these details, which were staring her in the face from the very start. It's idiotic to think in terms of 'obviously' or 'normally' now, when she's up against a being who moves mountains. What does that leave her with? If the uneasy detente holds fast, perhaps she can glean more from this encounter... Assuming the devil hasn't already decided to make her forget it, and assuming she can stay in Homura's good graces long enough to escape.

The safest course is not to get further involved. The second safest is to go slow and be ready to drop it if risk outweighs reward. With this in mind, Sayaka takes the plunge. "Can I ask you something?"

"What?"

"Why me and Kyouko?"

"Do you dislike it?"

"No, but..."

"I watched you destroy yourself over a boy who would never make you happy." Homura sweeps a hand through her hair. "Watching it again would be tiresome."

Just like that, the conversation takes an unforeseen turn. "So... you made me like girls?"

"The inclination existed. I only encouraged it." Her tone is matter-of-fact to perfection, as if she thinks no more of this than she would of holding the door for someone. "Sakura-san is also happier this way. Do you disagree?"

Sayaka can't unreservedly say that she does.

"I thought so." Homura walks back to the cliff's edge. "Why not simply enjoy what I've given you?"

There was a time, not even that long ago, when Sayaka would have told Homura _exactly_ what she thinks about accepting relationship favors from someone whose idea of fun is blanking out her memory over and over. Not any more. "I guess I don't get why you would do this."

"What benefit is there in questioning it?"

"I'm not sure," the short-haired girl hedges. "I just feel like maybe I should be trying to understand you better."

Homura stiffens and Sayaka realizes she screwed up big time. The devil pivots on her heel, facing her uninvited company. "Miki Sayaka, do you love Sakura Kyouko? Do you hold her more dear than anyone else?"

The gloves have come off. Sayaka's verbal sparring skills aren't sufficient against such a sudden reversal. "Um... We bicker a lot and her bad habits drive me crazy, but... I do really like her."

"Would you bear any pain to spare her from it? Give up your own happiness to protect hers?" Though Homura doesn't move, it feels like her presence is creeping nearer as she presses the attack. "For her sake, would you embrace evil?"

Sayaka's mouth opens and closes. No sound comes out.

It's enough reply for Homura. "Then there is no need for you to understand me, nor I to be understood by you." She starts to say more but then breaks off, looking to the side as if she senses another trespasser on the hill. "Go home," the devil orders curtly. "If you stay out too long, someone might notice."

This isn't right, even for the ever apathetic Akemi Homura. There's no way she would let Sayaka just walk away after what happened here... And yet that's precisely what Sayaka does, step by step, waiting with bated breath for _it_ to happen.

It doesn't happen.

After a minute she dares to look behind her. Homura is dancing around the empty chair, the black crown orbiting like a personal satellite. Sayaka turns her back, this time for good, and descends without stopping. Reaching the bottom unscathed, she takes the shortest route out. Halfway to the exit, the lone girl chances to glance at the sky's reflection in one of the park ponds.

_What the – !?_

Sayaka gapes at it, some part of herself insisting that this, even after all she's been through, is too absurd to be real. Then she lifts her face and confirms the aberration directly. There are points of starlight glimmering where a shadowed hemisphere should be: the moon isn't half full, it's half _gone._

She needs to write this down while the memories are fresh, and the path home takes her past one of her info caches. If she can find an all-night convenience store and grab a notepad and pen, she can slip one more record into it as she goes by.

* * *

"Sayaka-chan? You have a parcel."

This one breaks all expectations. The little box arrived early, clumsily taped and bearing an address label that looks like it was filled out by someone holding a pen between their teeth. Sayaka compares it with her saved photos of the package which came previously, then takes some new pictures and opens the box. The inside is stuffed with long grass that's beginning to wilt. There's no letter enclosed. Nested in the center is...

Sayaka doesn't know what it is. One of those jeweled egg things she's seen on TV, maybe? It's got a golden shell, with a crescent motif on top and a flat base to make it stand upright. The centerpiece appears to have been a polished blue crystal, of which only shards remain. The fragments are stained, darkened like smoked glass, and the outer fitting has tarnished spots where they touch it. The artifact's basic size and structure invite comparison with the black crown produced by Homura during the last round of the game, as described by Sayaka in her notes. She's pretty sure the broken gem doesn't belong to her enemy, however... And the longer she examines it, the stronger she feels she's seen this exact item before.

First things first. She reaches for the smartphone on her desk, wanting to get an image of the opulent relic in situ. Then it hits her: the egg has a crescent motif and a blue core. Sayaka has a blue crescent mark on her left middle fingernail. How did she get that, anyway? Her memory claims it's a memento of a holiday trip to Kazamino in Kyouko's company. Now that it's under the spotlight, that version of events doesn't hold up to –

_Wham!_

Sayaka spins around so fast the back of her chair hits the edge of the desk. Kyouko stands in the doorway, wearing school clothes and a disgruntled expression. Shutting the door behind her, she marches across the faux hardwood floor and plunks herself down on Sayaka's bed.

"K-Kyouko..?"

"I can't take this any more." The redhead's voice simmers with frustration. "You've been acting strange for weeks, always thinking about something else when we're together. Hitomi and Kyousuke say they hardly ever see you." Her fingers dig into the comforter. "You spend hours in the library, reading books you never touched before. If you were worried about your grades, you wouldn't hide it from me." Kyouko stops for breath, or to marshal her courage. "I'm sick of trying to act like everything's normal. If you want to break up, just say it."

"I don't!" It's the truth, but Sayaka knows it's not enough. She stretched herself thin with this double life, struggling to stay one step ahead of homework and Homura alike, and now she's on the verge of losing the one person she needs most. The fate of the relationship may hang on her next words. "I don't want that," she repeats. "I didn't mean to ignore you, honest. It's not a problem with you and me, it's... it's something else."

"Like what?" Righteous fire shines in the other girl's eyes. "Is someone bullying you? I'll kick his ass!"

"That's not it either." It totally is. "It's complicated."

Kyouko folds her arms. "Let's hear it."

She _can't_ hear it. Letting the secret out would endanger both of them. More than that, Sayaka doesn't want to admit all the happiness they've shared might only exist because of a demon's whim. "Just a minute," she says, stalling for time. "I have to finish this."

"Hm?" Kyouko notices the ruined egg. "What's that?"

"I'm not sure." The smartphone mimics a shutter's clattering. "It came right before you – "

_Pop!_

Sayaka is about to pick up the jewel when a spark jumps from its surface to her fingertip. Her hand jerks away, the muscles in her arm spasming all at once. The phone slips from her grasp, deflects off her thigh and hits the floor. She heeds neither the impact nor Kyouko's cry of alarm. A firehose of information has been unleashed, flushing out all the unreachable crevices of her mind.

Kyouko grabs her by the shoulders, shaking frantically. "Sayaka? Sayaka! Snap out of it!"

"Wha..?" Sayaka blinks, her vision blurred by the rapid motions. "S-stop it, I... I'm all right, I remember..."

It's all coming back now: wishes and contracts, soaring hope and plunging despair, Madoka's ascent and Homura's rebellion. _Miracles and magic do exist... There's no way I'd regret this... I won't be like the rest of you magical girls..._

"...I really was an idiot."

"No!" The chair bangs against the desk a second time as Kyouko throws herself onto Sayaka. Sayaka doesn't fight it, just puts her arms around her companion and holds her close until the desperate clinging relaxes and the trembles subside. "I'm sorry," Kyouko mumbles. "I just... I had this horrible feeling I'd never see you again..."

Sayaka has heard words like these before, in a world even less real than this one. She wants to be sure of it, though. "Kyouko, do you still have dreams where I'm dead?"

"Huh?" Her girlfriend looks up in surprise. "I told you about that?"

"Yeah." The how and when aren't important. "Is it still happening?"

Kyouko nods reluctantly. "The last one was really bad. You were drowning and I wanted to save you but someone wouldn't let me." Backing away, she sits on the bed again. "It doesn't mean anything, right? I mean, I also have dreams where we live together."

Living together? That memory is false... Rather, it's a real memory of a false occurrence. Kyouko and Sayaka shared a home only in the Mitakihara created by Homura inside her barrier. The relationship she imposed on them wasn't openly romantic at that time, though Sayaka won't deny it was very nice... But then Homura saw through her own illusions and violently rejected the idyllic construct, upsetting the plans of those who had come to liberate her.

Kyouko intrudes upon Sayaka's reminiscing. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"Yeah." Sayaka rolls her chair to one side and rescues the dropped phone. Sitting up, she discovers the fake soul gem has disappeared. Only the box of grass is left to testify it was ever there. That doesn't matter, not when she had the real one right here all along.

Her fortunes have turned more in these five minutes than in the five weeks ending yesterday. While her position remains anything but secure, she feels like she's in control of her destiny for the first time since the game started. There's no need to keep fumbling in the dark, no more chasing after breadcrumbs. She knows where she stands now.

All roads lead to Madoka, in whose unwilling name this world was shaped. If anyone still has the power to make right what Homura made wrong, it's her. Sayaka has to get to her without Homura realizing what's happened, and then... what? Don't hastily act without thinking, that's what the game has taught her. Suppose she _can_ bring out Madoka's true form, and suppose Madoka _can_ fix everything. Must Sayaka relinquish this life and leave Kyouko alone once more? What about Mami? Hitomi and Kyousuke? Her parents? Madoka's family?

What about Homura?

Sayaka remembers a conversation they once had in the unreal city, when the fledgling witch had not yet recognized her own nature and was futilely pursuing an imagined foe. She accused Sayaka of taking the enemy's side, after the blue-haired girl cautioned her against rushing to strike down someone who just wanted everyone to be happy...

Back in the here and now, Kyouko is getting antsy. "Don't space out like that. You're scaring me."

"Sorry." The introspection is making Sayaka restless as well. She leaves her chair and begins to pace around the room. "I'll be done soon, I promise."

A small part of her wants to reject this duty. She can stay here with her friends, it whispers. Just stop resisting Homura and be content with things as they are... But while Sayaka has changed, the sense of justice which led her to become a magical girl has not. If she lets this go on, she's betraying all for which Madoka sacrificed herself. Pretty ideals aside, there's also the practical fact that Homura's erratic behavior does not inspire confidence in her mental state. How long will her domain endure if its master is unable to govern it?

The Law of the Cycle must be repaired, that much is certain. Sayaka might have achieved it at the very beginning, if only she'd gone to Madoka in the first place instead of stupidly confronting the newborn devil on her own. Perhaps the blunder was a blessing in disguise: if she'd done that, she wouldn't have gotten this chance to learn from her mistakes.

What she has to do will not be easy. At least she won't have to attempt the breakout by herself, so long as she can persuade Kyouko to join her cause. Kyouko can bring in Mami, and Mami can bring in the last member of the scattered team, Momoe Nagisa. It'll be just like old times.

Sayaka finishes pacing and sits on the bed, taking a moment to ready herself. "I have to tell you something you're not going to like," she begins. "And then I need your help."

Kyouko watches her uneasily. "What is it?"

With immediate secrecy no longer a concern, showing is faster than speaking. Sayaka holds out her hand so Kyouko can see the blue crescent and the ring on the same finger, a silver band etched with dark symbols. After a couple of seconds, she turns it palm upward and draws out her soul gem. The core gives off a healthy azure light, free of the miasma which once poisoned it.

Kyouko stares at the gem. Then she looks down at the ring on her own hand, identical save that Homura's influence has concealed its runes. Her eyes are wide as saucers. "Oh my god..."

They've had a nice dream together. Now it's time to wake up.

* * *

So far, so good. She's almost at the Kaname house and all is calm. With any luck, Madoka hasn't yet gone to bed. Sayaka makes sure she's alone, tucks the baseball bat under one arm and sprints off the street. Her clothes transform in mid-stride, cool air washing over her bare shoulders and midriff as she slips into her magical girl form.

The residence is dark except for one section on the top floor. That's perfect. Sayaka leaps over Tomohisa's tomatoes and hops up the side of the house itself, taking advantage of the irregular architecture. Alighting on the stepped roof outside Madoka's room, she sidles over to an open window. The one she seeks is at her desk inside, typing on a virtual keyboard projected over its surface.

Sayaka props the bat against the wall and taps the glass. Madoka looks up with a start. "Sayaka-chan? What are you doing out there?"

"We need to talk. Sorry to drop in like this, but it's important."

Madoka helps Sayaka climb through the window and onto her bed. "Are you cosplaying?" she asks, understandably confused by her friend's appearance.

"Not exactly." Sayaka would explain, but there won't be any need to if her idea works. "Listen, have you noticed Homura acting weird lately?"

"You have too? I wasn't sure if I was just imagining it..."

Of course Madoka would feel something's amiss. She's the only one Homura is close to, the only one the devil cares about. "What do you think?" prompts Sayaka.

"I don't really know. She seems tired all the time and she barely speaks to me any more." Madoka's fretting grows. "I thought maybe she was sick but she said she wasn't. Do you know what's wrong?"

"I might," says Sayaka grimly. "Before we talk about that, I want to apologize. I said something really mean to you once and it's been bothering me ever since I remembered."

"I don't understand," Madoka protests. "You're never mean to me, Sayaka-chan."

"It was sort of like this." Sayaka stands, moving a short distance away. She concentrates on drawing out the bitter feelings she held in that bus stop, the last time she saw the human Madoka. "You could be all-powerful," she recites coldly, "but you just sit there and watch me suffer instead. Don't act like you know how I feel from the sidelines."

Her performance tears away the veil of Homura's deception faster than she dared hope. "Sayaka-chan, don't!" Madoka cries. "You have to purify your... your..."

Sayaka conjures her soul gem, holding it at arm's length. "This?"

The room is quiet for a minute. Then Madoka's dazed, unfocused expression begins to coalesce into dismay. "This isn't right," she murmurs, looking around with mounting alarm. "We shouldn't be here." Amber light shimmers in her eyes. A jagged crack propagates through the space behind her. "We were supposed to bring back Homura-chan but she... _How can she do this to herself?"_

Sayaka shrugs. "It's love."

* * *

Driving rain lashes Madoka's face, drenching her snowy dress. Relentless wind tugs at its hem and at her long, bedraggled hair. She stands unbowed, face set in a look of deep concentration, as indifferent to the storm as it is to her. Electric turbines furiously spin behind her as the early morning sky pours its wrath on Mitakihara's industrial district.

"I don't see why you're not grateful," says Kyuubey. "Thanks to me, you were able to escape from Akemi Homura's manipulation."

There are no thanks to be found in the glare Sayaka gives him. "Don't talk to me about manipulation, _Incubator."_

"Pay attention," Mami admonishes. Even upwind, her voice doesn't carry far amid the tempest. "They're coming!"

As if Sayaka needs to be reminded. _They_ are one breed of Homura's familiars: twisted caricatures of their maker, soldiers advancing in perfect ranks with spears leveled. These were no match for a magical girl the last time Sayaka fought them, but she mustn't take that for granted now. She glances at Kyouko, standing beside her on the footpath. "Are you ready?"

The answer is curt. "Uh-huh."

Mami and Nagisa have taken up a position in the grass on the far side of the river. Looking over her shoulder, Sayaka can see Madoka commanding the landscape from her vantage point above the sluice gate. Satisfied with her friend's safety for the moment, she faces the front again and slicks back the hair clinging to her forehead.

Their objective is still some ways off, well behind the oncoming phalanx. Sayaka would describe it as a gigantic flying gearbox, with a silhouette akin to a spinning top. In the brief lull between squalls, she makes out Homura's doll familiars waltzing on the highest, widest gear. The devil herself perches on the tip of the drive shaft, a forlorn bird of ill omen in an immodest black ensemble. Skeletal wings jut from her back, lined with a single row of feathers.

Her calm appearance doesn't fool Sayaka any more than Madoka's did. The real battle started hours ago, fought with powers the eye cannot see. It's a final contest for dominance, the goddess who loves all versus the devil who loves only her. With the two of them wholly occupied by their silent duel, leadership falls to the one who set the ball rolling. Now Sayaka needs to make sure it rolls in the right direction.

"Stick to the plan!" she calls. "Focus on the familiars, don't attack Homura!"

At Madoka's insistence, Plan A was a diplomatic approach. Said plan fell apart the moment Homura became aware of her precious captive's awakening and, in a panic, tried to reassert control by force. It was too late for that, too late to simply clap her hands and make the problem go away. She and Madoka were nearly matched in strength, and the ensuing stalemate gave Madoka's allies time to improvise Plan B. It's not a great plan, but it'll let them finish the job and sort out the finer points afterward.

"Wait!" For an avowedly emotionless being, Kyuubey sounds remarkably distressed. "Isn't Akemi Homura your enemy? Why would you want to spare her?"

"Would you shut up already?" Kyouko whips the butt of her spear into the furry alien's backside, launching him headfirst off the riverbank. "Jeez!"

"I don't understand this at all..." _Sploosh!_

The outburst doesn't pass unnoticed. Kyouko has been acting out of sorts ever since her memory was restored, seesawing between reticence and irritation. Sayaka knows it's not just the wretched weather making her unhappy, nor Kyuubey's unwelcome persistence. If this gambit succeeds, Kyouko must face the very real possibility that she may not see Sayaka again for the rest of her life. Knowing a magical girl's life tends to be short under even the best of circumstances brings scant comfort.

There's a lot Sayaka wants to say, but not enough time to say it. In the last seconds before the familiars come into striking range, she reaches out and gives Kyouko's shoulder a gentle squeeze. Then she unfastens her cape and lets the wind pull it away. A musket volley thunders on the right flank. Kyouko throws herself against the massed minions with a snarl. Sayaka snatches up her swords and follows into the fray.

Homura's soldiers haven't gotten any stronger, though the weight of their numbers adds a little challenge to what is otherwise just killing time. Kyouko and Sayaka cut through the puppets' weapons and bodies with equal ease, erasing two, three, even four at a single blow. Across the waters, Mami is conjuring, firing and discarding her ornate snaplocks with breathtaking speed. Nagisa guards the older girl's back, her own strength held in reserve for the critical moment.

The infernal machine inches closer. Whirling blades cleave raindrops. Guns flash in the gloom. The magical girls fight on, soaked to the bone yet burning with determination. Everybody knows what's at stake. One way or another, it ends here.

A cry from Nagisa pierces the mayhem. "Look out! They're above us!"

Sayaka swings both swords together, depriving a familiar trio of their heads, and jumps back to get a clear view. A flock of Homura's enormous crow servants have appeared, circling above the gearbox. The first wave is already peeling off to attack those who hinder the infantry. "Mami!"

"Got it!" The blond fighter casts aside her unused stockpile. _"Mitragliatrice Grande!"_

A black spear hurtles towards Kyouko. Sayaka lunges to intercept, but the clash of steel is lost as a tooth-rattling _BABABABABOOM_ drowns out all other noise. There are no crows left in the sky, only a shower of feathers.

"Miki-san, Kyouko-san, we can do it now!"

Exactly what Sayaka wants to hear. "Great! Let's _go!"_

Mami depresses the big gun's barrel and Homura's tin troops wither before her. She sweeps one bank clean, then swivels the weapon on its tripod and rakes the familiars on the far shore. What dregs survive are soon mopped up by Kyouko and Sayaka. Abandoning the immobile fixture, Mami reverts to her usual armament. A single slug bores into the opposite embankment, providing an anchor for the yellow ribbon which forms along its flight path.

The sharpshooter wraps the tail around her hand and takes a flying leap, pulling herself over the river to Sayaka's side. The devil's army is half reinforced by the time Mami lands: the power she expended has bought the team a minute at most. If their good fortune holds, that minute is all they need.

Mami summons another brace of muskets and fires them together, aiming beneath the flying fortress. New ribbons appear at her command and gently coil around Kyouko's and Sayaka's waists. In the background, Nagisa wipes her hands across her face, assuming the clownish visage of her inhuman self. With a shout of _"Cambozola!"_ she falls upon the foe.

The wind eases, affording a few moments of better visibility. It looks like Homura is still taking the bait, and doesn't know or doesn't care about what's happening on the ground. This is the trickiest part of the plan, yet Sayaka has the most confidence in it. "We'll go on three, all right?"

"Wait!" Mami hesitates, then undoes the little ribbon which was tied in a bow under her collar. "Please, give this to Nagisa for me."

Sayaka understands. "Count on it," she pledges, knotting the keepsake around her own wrist. "Don't lose hope, okay?"

Mami nods stoically. Sayaka wishes she could offer more, but the gale is kicking up again and the familiars aren't going to wait while she makes a proper farewell. She gets back into position, ready to start the count, and suddenly all she can see is red. A cold wet pair of lips press against hers and someone else's tongue is in her mouth. "...There," Kyouko concludes. "Now I'm ready."

Just this once, there will be no complaining about her lack of propriety. Sayaka flips her swords over, holding them with the blades pointing down. "One – two – _three!"_

Kyouko jumps. The ribbon attached to her body snaps taut, contracting and flexing upward simeltaneously. As her girlfriend rockets into the sky, Sayaka takes a deep breath and pushes off with both feet. She rides through the jolt and the heavy g-force which follows, squinting against the stiff headwind that blasts her face. Then the acceleration eases off and the ribbon unravels.

Mami's gunfire resumes, muted by distance. Kyouko straddles her spear directly ahead, riding it like a broomstick as the pair coast towards apogee. Gravity takes over and Sayaka switches her focus to the landing zone. The dolls are still dancing, mocking their mistress as they have always done. These familiars are far stronger than the other types, and solidly outnumber the airborne boarding party. It's going to get a lot harder if they join the fight.

The redhead hits first and slides across the mammoth gear's broad surface, dragging the spearhead behind her. Sayaka lands right on her tail, hunching as she absorbs the shock. Pale faces flash past on either side, glassy-eyed, leering. Cries of _"Gott ist tot!"_ fill the intruders' ears. Homura remains entranced, lost in her own struggle.

Kyouko springs off the deck, twisting into an aerial somersault that carries her over the devil's head. She snaps the spear downward and it breaks apart into chain-linked pieces. The transformed weapon snakes around Homura's body, binding her arms and wings just before Kyouko's momentum pulls her off her pedestal.

There was a time, not even that long ago, when Sayaka would have relished a chance to get payback for what Homura has done to her. Not any more. This is merely a cruel necessity, an act performed because it is the lesser evil. She jumps onto the drive shaft and jumps again, discarding one sword and raising the other above her head with both hands. In the final instant before contact, she looks into the eyes of Akemi Homura – fallen magical girl, nutcracker witch, beloved of a higher power – and sees raw, primal fear.

And then Miki Sayaka – doomed magical girl, mermaid witch, best friend of a higher power – drives her blade into the devil's heart.

Homura screams. Sayaka straddles her waist, pinning her to the deck. A pink aura envelopes them as Madoka's power surges through Sayaka, discharging along a circuit she completed with her own body. Kyouko grimaces, hands locked around the ends of the spear chain in a white-knuckle grip as Homura writhes in agony. The end, when it comes, is mercifully quick. Homura goes limp, head lolling to one side, and Sayaka feels Madoka's will recede from the link. She replaces it with her own, delving into the wound for the one thing she still needs. It's close, very close...

The dolls aren't dancing any more. They're standing and staring, and Kyouko is getting nervous. "I think we should leave."

"I know."

"I mean like, leave _now."_

"Not yet." Not unless they want to win the battle and lose the war. Sayaka grits her teeth, makes a grab for the prize, and _pulls._ The sword comes out slowly, as though mired in glue, and something else comes out with it as the tip emerges. Rain begins to wash away the devil's ichor, exposing the harsh lines of the black crown. Sayaka scoops it up with her free hand and hurriedly rises. "Bingo!"

She doubles back towards the gearbox's leading edge. Mami and Nagisa are still fighting on the ground below, slowly withdrawing to the sluice gate lest the soldiers overwhelm them... And there's Madoka looking up at her, waiting to finish this.

"Sayaka!" Kyouko has Homura's body slung over her shoulder. The dolls are gathering around her in crass mimicry of a mourning procession. "This isn't the end, right? You're coming back, aren't you?"

Sayaka holds the crown close to her chest. She wants to say yes, wants to say they've got a whole life together ahead of them, but she can't. The fragile hope she's carried this far must remain unspoken. With a parting smile, she dives off the edge. The lower part of her uniform melts away, her legs fusing as the river rushes towards her.

Mami takes one more shot: _"TIRO... FINALE!"_

Sayaka punches through the surface and levels off, driving forward with powerful strokes of an iridescent tail. Swimming in this half-witch form is second nature to her, though she never used the ability as much as Nagisa does. It leaves her half naked and that's embarrassing, even if it's not the human half.

Embarrassment is the last thing on her mind as a dark shape reaches out to her. She slows, synchronizing the movement of two bodies, and Oktavia von Seckendorff's gauntleted hand cups around her protectively. At Sayaka's direction, the leviathan lifts her back into the realm of air. Water pours from Oktavia's three-eyed helmet and armored shoulders as monster and mermaid emerge together at the foot of the gate.

Sayaka holds out the crown. "Madoka, here! Take it!"

* * *

Homura sits in her chair on the hill, clad in a gothic funeral dress. The hill itself is whole, and a second chair stands empty where there was once a divide. Red spider lilies, blooming out of season, blanket the ground.

Sayaka takes care not to trample them as she approaches, still in her magical girl guise. "Now that the game is done, let's be honest with each other." Her nemesis doesn't respond, but she's not going to be discouraged so easily. "I won't ask why you put me through that, but if you were trying to make me hate you, you failed."

Homura barely reacts. "Leave," she says flatly. "I don't want to hear your gloating."

"Oh, like I'm going to gloat over someone who's so miserable her own familiars throw tomatoes at her." Sayaka circles in front of the seated girl and stops. The other chair isn't hers. "I'll say my part and if you still want me to go, fine. Until then, humor me."

The devil frowns. "After what I have done, can you honestly say you do not despise me?"

"There were times when I thought I'd end up that way," Sayaka concedes. "When I remember what Madoka showed me, I'm glad I didn't."

That name rouses Homura from her sulking. "What are you talking about?" she demands. "What did she show you?"

Sayaka's answer couldn't be more succinct. "You," she replies. "The Homura who fought so hard to protect her, the one who battled an unstoppable enemy again and again. Madoka wanted me to understand why saving you from the incubators was so important... And then I got to see the world you wished for, too." Sayaka turns away, looking out at a glowing city crisscrossed with elevated aqueducts and patrolled by art deco dirigibles. "Coming back here makes me feel a little nostalgic."

"This is not my barrier."

"It's a pretty good likeness." Both of them spent enough time in the original to be sure of that. "You're right, though. This is more like a dream, a place for you to stay while Madoka finishes cleaning up."

Homura has no doubt already tried and discovered she can't break out of her spacious prison. "What do you intend to do with me?"

"That depends," says Sayaka. "Will you stop trying to sabotage the Law of the Cycle?"

"No." Even in defeat, Homura's resolve does not waver. "I will never accept a world where Madoka cannot have the life she deserves."

As expected. "Then the devil will sleep for all eternity, wandering through this Mitakihara long after the real one is gone and forgotten... But that's not what Madoka wants. It's not what I want, either."

Her attempt to be eloquent doesn't impress. "You're wasting your time. As you say, I am a devil. A provocateur who – "

"Yeah, yeah, I remember that crap." Sayaka heard this speech once already and once was enough. She leans forward, hands on hips. "So tell me, transfer student. If you're really so evil, why aren't you _happy?"_

Homura parries the question with questions of her own. "Are you happy, Miki Sayaka? You turned Madoka against me and forced her to resume a role which should never have been hers. When your purpose is fulfilled, you will return to the Law of the Cycle and cease to exist as an individual. Are you satisfied with this end? Are you content to abandon Sakura Kyouko for such an outcome?"

Sayaka sees where this is going and plays along. It's fine to waste time when one has all the time in the world. "I'm pretty satisfied," she says evenly. "Madoka chose to return to her rightful place, and we chose to help her. All of us, even Kyouko and Mami. I won't say it was fun or easy, but they knew what they were getting into."

"Irrelevant." Is that a bitter note in Homura's voice? "Once Madoka destroys my creation, they won't remember any of this took place."

"Don't assume the worst so quickly," the blue-haired girl chides. "We're not just going back to the way things used to be. Nagisa and I will be sticking around to lend a hand, and nobody has to forget what happened."

"I see... In other words, you've accepted separation as the price for your victory. Sakura Kyouko will know you existed, but will not be able to see or hear you until her life ends. Kaname Tatsuya will grow up without his sister, remembering her only from vague impressions and the words of others. Your own parents will only know their daughter vanished without a trace." Homura tilts her head. "Is this good enough for you?"

Another question which Sayaka has already had to answer for herself. "I can accept it," she asserts. "I might not _like_ it, but I can live with it if that's the price we pay for saving you and protecting the hope of all magical girls. The thing is – "

"Saving me?" The bitterness is unmistakable now. "If you believe I can still be saved, you're even more foolish than I thought."

Sayaka lets the insult slide. "It's true," she replies seriously. "Since you're neither a witch nor a magical girl, the Law of the Cycle won't apply to you no matter how much Madoka wants it." She folds her arms over her chest. "That doesn't mean we can't find a place for you. The world of magical girls has its own god and its own angels. We could let it have a devil too."

This time Homura doesn't seem to have a ready retort. "What... are you saying, exactly?"

"I was about to tell you when you interrupted." Sayaka waits a moment, just to give the next part more impact. "I said I could accept leaving the others behind if it was the best ending we could get. The thing is, we might not have to settle for that."

She has Homura's attention, if not her enthusiasm. "Go on."

"Normally the Law of the Cycle only manifests when a magical girl is about to become a witch, right? I shouldn't be here, except there's some kind of anomaly where you're concerned... I don't know if it's from you breaking the Law, or being linked with us in the fight back there. What's important is that it gives us a loophole." Sayaka spins in a circle, cape flaring as she holds out her hands to encompass all of the beautiful illusion. "I said this is a dream, but actually it does have characteristics of a barrier. It's shaped by your own power, turned inward instead of out. If we released you now, you would be able to control the dreams you create and bring other people into them."

"People such as Sakura Kyouko and Tomoe Mami," the devil finishes tartly. "Sparing you the consequence of your choice."

"It won't let us carry on the lives we had," Sayaka points out. "But it's enough to keep in touch, and it doesn't have to be just for us. Think of all the magical girls Madoka has to take away. You could give them a chance to say goodbye to their loved ones, even when they fall alone."

Interested or not, Homura is mistrustful. "You've always been an obstacle to me, Miki Sayaka. Why would you offer this?"

"Because I care." It really is that simple. "I've already made my decision. Whichever path you choose, I won't give up on you the way you gave up on me. I want to see you earn back the happy ending you threw away."

Not the best choice of words, judging by the resentment that flashes in Homura's eyes. "You talk of happy endings after you've taken everything from me," she accuses. "Madoka was safe! The incubators were under control! I _had_ my happy ending!"

"Did you?" Sayaka is careful not to sound accusing in turn. "Is that really what you wanted, a Madoka you had to keep locked in a cage?" She feels a new presence as she speaks, a force hovering at the dream's edge. Time to finish this. "Homura, listen to me. Don't go on making the same mistakes I did. If you can't respect the wish Madoka made, you'll only keep hurting her." Bending, she picks one of the scarlet blossoms. "You've suffered enough. Let it go." Gloved hands tuck the lily into the devil's hairband. "There... Now I've said what I came to say, so I won't make you wait any longer."

There's no reply. Sayaka turns her attention elsewhere. _Madoka, is that you?_

_Right here, Sayaka-chan. How is it going?_

_I'm done. I don't think I got through to her, but thanks for giving me the chance. She's all yours._

_All right, I'll come in._

The whole crest of the hill lights up as Madoka appears, floating serenely over the flowers. She looks much better now that she isn't totally soaked, and Sayaka can't help but take a moment to enjoy the majestic sight.

The moment ends when Homura bolts from her chair, suddenly agitated. Her tone now is almost pleading. "No... Not like this..." She backs straight into Sayaka, who grabs her in a bear hug before she can flee. Her final shield, the icy persona she buried herself in for so long, shatters completely. "Stop! Don't look at me! Don't touch me!" Homura tries to cover her face with her hands, her voice breaking. _"Don't forgive me!"_

The goddess will have none of it. Taking advantage of Sayaka's quick reaction, she swoops down and grabs the struggling devil's wrists. "Homura-chan, stop that!"

"Please... You mustn't..."

Madoka settles onto the ground, moving her hands to Homura's waist. "It's all right," she murmurs. "I'm here now. You don't have to be alone any more."

Sayaka feels a tremor, hears the first sniffles, and knows her part in this play is at an end. She releases her grip and steps away, letting Madoka pull Homura into a closer embrace. Soon the devil is sobbing into her beloved's shoulder as Madoka strokes her back, whispering words of reassurance.

It would be premature to celebrate success when there's still so much to be done. The wraiths aren't going to kill themselves, and someone will have to keep an eye on the incubators lest they hatch another plan to restore the life cycle of witches. Rehabilitating Homura will take time and patience. Even so, Sayaka has a good feeling as she leaves the dream.

Maybe, just maybe, things will work out.

* * *

WER IST ERWACHT?


	2. Ende Gut, Alles Gut

_The Persistence of Memory  
Epilogue: Ende Gut, _ _Alles Gut_

It's been a pretty good week for Tomoe Mami.

Her latest protege has graduated with flying colors and gone out into the world, ready to do her part against the wraith menace, and today the nice shop on the corner got some really exquisite imported teas. Throw in a boxed cheesecake and Mami has all the makings of a wonderful evening at hand... All the makings except one, that is: tonight she partakes alone.

Saying goodbye to her students is always hard, and the apartment feels achingly empty when she has no one waiting for her afternoon lessons. Regardless, she keeps her chin up and carries herself with quiet dignity as she climbs the stairs to her maisonette. She performs an important service in the war on wraiths, and any list of her accomplishments will show much to take pride in. A little loneliness isn't something she should let herself be troubled by.

Nor is she troubled by the three lifesize dolls cavorting on the balcony outside her front door, macabre marionettes in mourning costumes. The play stops when they see her, greeting the blond girl with cheers of _"Käse ist hier! Käse ist hier!"_

In spite of their ominous appearance, these messengers bring good tidings. Mami bows, trusting they'll pass along her thanks to the one who sent them. As they do handsprings over the railing one by one, she slips inside. There's already one pair of shoes by the welcome mat, too small to be hers. She removes her own and carries the tea and cake into the living room, where a girl with wavy white hair stands by the low, triangular glass table.

Mami sets her bags on the floor as Nagisa comes forward with open arms. They meet in a mutual hug.

"I'm home."

"Welcome home."

Even if she gets a little lonely, she's not afraid of anything anymore. Even if her pupils leave, even if her comrades are busy, there's one precious friend who will always be waiting for her when she needs it most.

* * *

Akayama Chie's stomach is all butterflies.

She was happy when her father announced he wouldn't have to transfer between offices any more, and she would be able to stay in one school long enough to make some friends. After three moves in ten months, things were finally looking up. Now it's all crashing down around her as she stands in the hall and listens to her new homeroom teacher rant at the class inside.

"...Which is _what_ , Nakazawa-kun!?"

"Um... er... You could put the butter and jam on the table and let him choose for himself?"

Saotome-sensei seemed like such a nice person when they met at the orientation. Hearing the woman rave about toast and picky men with fiendish intensity, Chie wonders how she's ever going to make it here. Maybe it's not too late to request a switch.

"Ahem... Since we've settled that, I'd like to introduce our new transfer student. Akayama-san, please come in!"

Chie feels like she's walking to the gallows as she enters the classroom, clutching her bag like it might try to escape without her. She stops in front of the whiteboard and turns to face the students. As she feared, she's once again the tallest by a wide margin. She can feel their eyes on her, this towering figure with broad shoulders and swept back hair colored like red brick, and she can already guess which of the girls will corner her at the first opportunity. They'll ask what sports she plays and what kind of boy she likes. They won't ask how it feels to be a small person trapped in a big body.

"Now then, why don't you introduce yourself?"

"Akayama Chie." She writes it on the board, not even trying to seem interested. "Nice to meet you."

The teacher does her best to carry on cheerfully. "Akayama-san has had to transfer between schools a lot, so let's all make sure to help her get settled in." She taps her pointer against her lower lip. "Why don't you sit next to, let's see..."

There are three empty spaces in the room, with desks and chairs automatically retracted into the floor: one in the first row, one in the third, and one in the fourth. Chie would rather sit in the fifth row at the back, where the others can't stare at her. As she frets over this, the girl sitting to the left of the open seat in the third row puts up her hand. She's also got red hair, tied in a ponytail that flows down her back.

"...Why don't you sit next to Sakura-san?"

Chie takes a deep breath and walks down the aisle, keeping her eyes focused straight ahead and down. She doesn't want to know if the boys are checking out her long legs, or whether they can see her panties under the regulation uniform's uncomfortably short skirt. If she begged hard enough, would the administrators let her wear the male variant instead?

Her desk is fully assembled by the time she reaches it. The girl with the ponytail grins at her as she sits, flashing fang-like canines, and gives a little wave with her left hand. Chie sees the silver ring and the fingernail mark and feels her blood run cold. Now it's not just an unhinged teacher she has to contend with, but a rival magical girl as well.

_I'm so, so screwed._

The Sakura girl leaves her alone for the rest of the morning, which is a blessed relief because catching up with the lessons is enough work by itself. Come lunchtime, the transferee considers hiding in the nurse's office until class resumes. Other students close in on her, led by the short-haired tan girl from the front row. Chie gets up and hurriedly zips her bag, only to find her counterpart blocking her escape.

"Yo," says the magical girl affably. "Sakura Kyouko. Lemme show you around."

Chie gives up and follows along, trying to assure herself that her rival won't start a fight here in the school. For the next few minutes, Kyouko does exactly what she offered. "Futaba Yuki has her eye on you," she remarks as they traverse a glass skywalk. "Probably wants you for the baseball team."

"I'm sorry."

"Huh?" Kyouko stops and turns with a quizzical look. "What'cha say?"

Chie wants to get it over with. She's made her share of poor decisions, and right now using that once-in-a-lifetime wish to end her monthly agony is at the top of the list. Better to suffer the consequences now than drag it out for the rest of the day. "I'm sorry I hunted on your territory without permission," she says quietly. "I couldn't clean my soul gem before I came. I promise I won't do it again."

Kyouko blinks. "What are you talking about? You think this is a shakedown?"

"It... It's not?"

The ponytailed girl shakes her head. "We don't do crap like that." She starts walking again. "Come on, I know a great place to talk."

She leads Chie to the school roof. In contrast to the ultramodern interior, the architecture here reminds the newcomer of an old European cathedral. Following her guide's example, Chie sits on one of the stone benches and takes out her food.

Kyouko's lunch appears to consist of taiyaki, Pocky, and various other snacks washed down with boxed juice. "So," she begins, "how long have you been a magical girl?"

"About six weeks." Chie hesitantly picks up one half of a tuna sandwich. "I'm no good at it."

"How come?"

"My weapon, my _Dämonschreck_... It's slow and not very accurate. Other girls don't want to work with me because they think I'll hit them in the back."

"Mami can help you with that." Kyouko gnaws the head off a fish-shaped pastry and scarfs it down. "No problem."

"Mami?"

"Mm-hm." Kyouko swallows her second mouthful. "We take care of all the newbies here and in Kazamino." She digs out a smartphone, scrolling the message display with her thumb. "Guess she's busy right now. I'll send a pic so she can find you when school lets out." She leans closer to Chie, holding the phone at arm's length. The transfer student hastily puts down her sandwich and tries to look decent as Kyouko grins ear to ear and pushes the shutter button.

_Click!_

Chie takes a bite, tasting the comforting familiarity of whole wheat and spicy mayo. Then she sees what Kyouko is writing under the image: _akayama chie, magical girl 6 wks_. Catching her eye, the other girl adds _shy bokukko, names her attacks_ to the note and sends it before she can protest. "There," says Kyouko impishly. "Hope you like cake."

"Um..." Chie loses her train of thought for a moment when she sees the calendar app running in the background. The items _tea w/ Mami_ and _meeting w/ devil_ appear several times, and one of the coming Sundays has _date w/ Sayaka_ highlighted. "Is this really okay? I don't want to be a bother."

"It's fine, seriously." Kyouko chomps her taiyaki. "Nnf! ...Besides, we might get more nightmares with another girl around."

"Nightmares? You fight those?"

"Once in a while, yeah. How 'bout you?"

"I've just heard the name. Some kind of new enemy, right?"

"Uh-huh." The bean-stuffed fish cake shrinks until only its tail is left. "They're mostly showing up in big cities. Smaller and faster than wraiths, so you really gotta work together to bring 'em down. The payoff is worth it, though."

"So it's true they drop more grief?"

"Lots more."

"I see..." The other magical girls Chie knew were afraid of nightmares, afraid of the unknown monsters that appeared without explanation. She finds Kyouko's casual attitude strange. "Can... Can you tell me more?"

"Sure," replies the veteran, "but let's cover the basics first. You gotta know the ground rules before you can be a Mitakihara magical girl." Kyouko polishes off her tail and turns to face the novice with another of those mischievous grins. "So, Akayama-kun, ready to hear the word of our lady and savior, Kaname Madoka?"

* * *

One of these days, Kaname Junko _is_ going to pull off the old bastard's toupee.

Her present frustration isn't totally his fault, for a change: it's pure misfortune that her rare afternoon off coincides with Tomohisa having to take Tatsuya out for a doctor's appointment. Thoughts of revenge are put aside as she kicks off her shoes and goes into the empty house, making a beeline to the refrigerator.

_Someone_ has made a mockery of her husband's efficient organization, rearranging the cartons and bottles into a miniature castle. Seeing that her modest liquor collection is now an integral part of a load-bearing structure, Junko takes out the orange juice and the ice pail from the freezer and places them on the table, then pulls a pair of glasses from the kitchen cabinet. She has company waiting when she gets back to her chair.

"Hello, Madoka."

"Hello, Mama."

Madoka wears her school uniform, though her serious face and the gold sheen in her eyes tell Junko she's come with a purpose. The elder Kaname pours their drinks and slides one down the tabletop. "What's on your mind?" she prompts, easing into her seat.

"Homura-chan wants me to spend more time here. She says if I want to, she'll make it so I can have a normal life and still carry out my duties."

So it's a problem with the devil. Junko should have guessed. "What's the catch?"

"I don't think there is one." Madoka swirls her juice, listening to the clink of the ice cubes. "It just... It doesn't seem right. None of the magical girls I saved ever had this kind of chance. It wouldn't be fair to them, would it?"

"Perhaps not," her mother concedes. She takes a sip and lets the flavor run across her tongue. "Would you want to do it if that wasn't an issue?"

"I'm not sure. I don't mind letting Sayaka-chan and Nagisa-chan have their visits, and I'm happy about being able to see everyone, but going further... It feels like cheating."

"Cheating?"

Madoka nods. "I don't regret the wish I made or the price I paid for it. As long as I can protect the hope of all those girls, my feelings won't ever change." The adolescent goddess allows herself the briefest of smiles before her expression becomes troubled again. "After accepting that fate, would it really be okay for me to let someone else take away the cost?"

Now Junko gets it. "I can't tell you what you should do," she replies. "But you know, we won't be around forever. I don't think it's bad to be a little bit selfish if it means you won't have regrets after we're gone." She leans back in her chair, nursing her glass contemplatively. "I do have to ask, are you considering this because you want it or because that girl wants it? I'm not saying it can't be both, but if you're only doing it to keep her happy or because you feel obligated – "

"It's not like that." On this, Madoka's resolve is absolute. "I want Homura-chan to be happy because she's very important to me."

However much Junko wishes to give support, she can't ignore a mother's protective instinct. "That's another thing I'm concerned about," she says. "This whole situation happened because she couldn't accept having to let you go. Don't let the person she used to be blind you to what she is now."

"I know," the goddess answers. "I know she did hurtful things, but... I understand _why_ she did them. That's why I need to help her, not punish her." Madoka drinks and sets the glass down. "Do you think that's wrong?"

Her mother reaches for the bottle, topping off her juice when it's barely half empty. "It isn't wrong necessarily, but I'm not convinced that girl _wants_ to be helped. Can you be sure she isn't just waiting for you to let your guard down?"

The pink-haired girl weighs her words before speaking. "I'm being careful," she replies at last. "I have Sayaka-chan and Nagisa-chan looking out for me, so... Even if Homura-chan tries to do that again, I think it will be all right."

Not for the first time, Junko wonders whether she can truly understand the realm she glimpses in those shining eyes. "If your mind is made up, I suppose there's no point fretting... You're a good girl, Madoka. I dare say you make a better god than many which people have worshiped over the ages."

Madoka's cheeks redden. "Mama..!"

"I mean it." Here, at least, she has confidence in her opinion. "Why don't you stay with us tonight and take some time to think things over? Papa and Tatsuya will want to see you too."

"Well... If it's just for one night, I guess it can't hurt." Madoka looks glad, in spite of her worries. "Thanks, Mama."

Junko smiles indulgently, drinks her juice, and tries not to think about how this scene was born from a devil's desire. A desire so strong, so _unreasonable_ that it gave solid form to a cosmic principle and created an entire lifetime of pretty lies to explain the presence of a being who should not exist in this world.

But it's all right to believe in the fable, Madoka tells her. She really did have a daughter once, in a universe which now lingers only in the memory of a few young immortals.

* * *

Muriel Heaney never thought dying would hurt so much.

The pain radiating from her tar-dark soul gem is so severe, so pervasive, that she can no longer distinguish her individual injuries. She can still see the red patch where a near miss burned her left forearm raw, however, and more like it on both legs. Doggedly she hunches over the crossbow, platinum hair falling across her eyes as she struggles to wind the crank. What used to take seconds has become a slow ordeal, its pace metered by the lethargic click of the ratchet, but finally the release nut catches the taut string.

She creates a bolt and loads it, raising her weapon with shaking hands. The three wraiths in front of her continue their unhurried advance, as if they know they've got her cornered. More of the monk-like specters are circling around the flooded drydock to her left, past the lean gray hulk of the cruiser _Caroline_ and the old pump house. With the Lagan channel on her right and Belfast Harbour's cold waters at her back, there's nowhere to retreat.

"God, please don't make me go like this." She scrunches up her face, trying to hold back tears as she searches for courage. "Just give me a little longer..."

"That won't be necessary."

Muriel's cornflower eyes snap open. Just a few steps away, another girl faces the wraiths. Black hair spills down to her waist, covering the roots of the broad, lustrous crow's wings that spread behind her. Her halterneck gown and long gloves mimic a starry sky in perfect fidelity.

_Who..?_

The magical beasts strike as one, needle-thin lances of pure malice piercing the air. The interloper's body absorbs them without so much as a ripple. Every lamp around the dock flickers and goes out as an abrupt wind sweeps the clouds from the heavens, the jaundice yellow of sodium vapor turning to a full moon's icy luminance.

"That's far enough!" a new voice shouts from the left. "You won't pass!"

A third girl stands on the other side of the warship's berth, white cape flapping in the breeze. She lifts her sword and a massive _something_ erupts from the water, throwing a glittering spray over the replica Sopwith on the cruiser's after deck. Tarnished armor shines in moonlight as the giant raises its own blade, seemingly long enough to slice the _Caroline_ 's hull clean through. Two swings of that instrument dispatch the wraiths on either flank, their gaunt forms twisting and dissolving.

All becomes quiet, save for the wind in Muriel's ears and her own ragged breathing... And then the pain intensifies. She drops to her knees and hunches forward with a whimper, the crossbow slipping from her grasp. A stranger's feet rustle the grass beyond the barbed wire and chain-link fencing. Unfamiliar fingers pluck away the barrette which carries Muriel's soul gem.

The agony eases. Muriel sits up and finds her gem resting in the winged girl's cupped hands, a fine dark mist emanating from its polluted core. She wants to say something, but the first clear view of her savior robs her of speech. The being who answered her plea is a stern, lavender-eyed beauty with a hairband and a salamander earring. A pink choker encircles her neck, secured by a lock that accepts no key. Now Muriel sees her dress isn't patterned after the night sky, it _is_ the night sky. Those are real stars shimmering in its depths.

"Muriel Heaney, do you believe in the Law of the Cycle? Do you understand the fate of magical girls?"

Muriel used to think she understood, but the legends said nothing of winged visitors coming to question those whose time is at an end. She does remember her mum talked about angels a lot after the funeral, although she never imagined they would look like this. What's more, the stranger speaks neither English nor Gaelic and yet she understands the words perfectly. "I do believe in the Law..."

"Even though you believe, you cling to a life of suffering rather than accept your promised release." The girl tips her head. "Am I wrong?"

She's not wrong. Acknowledgment isn't what spills from Muriel's lips, however. "Who are you?"

"Akemi Homura, mother of nightmares. A devil who opposes the Law of the Cycle and acts against it in this world." The other newcomer alights beside her as she speaks. "This is Miki Sayaka, a messenger of the Law."

Miki looks more like a normal magical girl to Muriel's eyes. Her costume combines a shoulder-baring top and a miniskirt, and she wears a fortissimo pin in her short blue hair. She has an earring similar to Akemi's, except made of gold with a sapphire at the bottom. The armored giant which appeared with her has vanished.

Muriel feels completely lost. "What do you want from me?"

"Your soul gem is at its limit. If you wish, I can extend your life." Akemi spreads her hands a little, allowing Muriel to see how the mist from the gem is being absorbed into her palms. "My terms are simple. Make a contract with me and I'll protect you until your sixteenth birthday. In return, I expect you to serve me when summoned."

This is a test of faith, it has to be. Muriel looks to Miki for guidance, for a rebuttal to the sinister invitation. "It's okay," Miki tells her. "Just make sure you're choosing what you really want. Don't say yes just because you feel you have to keep fighting."

Muriel's sixteenth birthday is nineteen months from now. Nineteen months to do all the little things she never got around to, nineteen months to tie up all the loose ends in her life... Nineteen months to think of ways to say goodbye. "What happens at the end?"

Akemi answers her question. "I cannot change your fate, only defer it. The Law of the Cycle will come for you at that time, fulfilling Madoka's promise."

"Mado... ka?"

The winged girl nods. "I suppose you've never heard how the Law is guided by a human heart," she says, "but that story is too long to tell now... I ask again: do you accept the will of one who sacrificed herself for the sake of all magical girls? Or do you selfishly choose to remain here, in the company of one who rejects the Law? If you have any doubt at all, you should refuse me."

Muriel can hear her mum's voice shouting at her inside her head, ordering her to drive back this diabolical temptress with righteous prayer. She ignores it, because she already knows praying won't help her now any more than it did when her dad got the cancer or when her friends were at each others' throats in a petty sectarian feud. The only one who ever gave her a miracle was QB, and he's nowhere to be seen.

_Just make sure you're choosing what you really want._

What Muriel wants isn't nineteen more months of pretending she doesn't notice the empty bottles piling up at home, being forced to sever ties with undesirable acquaintances, or risking her life every night to protect a city that will never appreciate her hardship. When she looks at it that way, the truth is obvious: what she wants isn't simply more life, but a different life. If she can't have that and the choice she faces won't change her end, there's no point staying here.

Akemi seems to read her feelings in her expression. "Very well," the devil concludes. "Then I won't make her wait."

Make who wait? Muriel doesn't get to ask, because suddenly everything is illuminated with an intensity that hurts her eyes. She covers them with her hand until her vision clears, letting her follow the gaze of the others. What she sees takes her breath away.

A slender shape descends, drifting down to earth with incomparable majesty. Bubblegum hair, tied on each side with ribbons, trails behind her. She has wings carved of pure light, and under the sleeves and hem of her billowing dress are the same twinkling stars worn by Akemi. Somehow Muriel understands, if only by instinct, that this can be no one except Madoka herself.

Akemi withdraws a little, folding her own wings against her back. The contrast between her and Madoka is striking, but it's the devil's face which captures Muriel's attention. Akemi spoke as though she and Madoka were enemies, antagonists in an ancient conflict between light and dark, warm and cold, good and evil. Why, then, does the one who claims to oppose the Law look upon its avatar with such yearning?

Madoka takes her place in the ceremony, settling on Miki's open side. Her agent receives her as if meeting an old friend, and then all eyes turn to Muriel. The kneeling girl feels both awe and bewilderment as she stares at this otherworldly triptych, trying to divine the scene's meaning. Did these creatures, be they angels or demons, really come just for her? Why didn't anyone ever tell her it would be like this?

"It's all right." Madoka's voice is so soft, so comforting that Muriel can't help but trust it. "You fought so hard even when it hurt, even when you were all alone, but you don't have to any more. I won't let your wish end in sorrow."

The heavenly figure offers a hand in an immaculate white glove and Muriel knows this is the point of no return. She reaches for it but stops short, realizing there's one thing she still can't leave undone. "Could... could someone tell Mum I won't be coming back?"

"I'll see to it," says Akemi. "Don't worry."

This assurance gives the last bit of strength that was missing. Muriel takes Madoka's hand and gets to her feet as Miki lifts the soul gem from Akemi's cradle. She presents it to Madoka with a little flourish and the latter frames her fingers around the ornament. The corruption inside boils off, then the gem itself flashes into silver vapor and is gone.

For the first time in a long time, Muriel feels at peace.

The magical girl's body fades and vanishes. The Law's manifestation starts to disappear as well, fingers and toes dissolving into myriad points of dancing light. "She's safe now," Madoka murmurs. "Thank you, Homura-chan, Sayaka-chan."

"Madoka..." Homura falters, averting her face from the goddess's kindly gaze. "No, never mind."

"If you're sure." Madoka departs with a smile to melt the coldest heart. "Take care of yourself, okay?"

The devil doesn't answer. Pitiless wind scatters the sparks of her beloved's presence as the lights in the drydock slowly, grudgingly come back on. Hardly a trace remains of Muriel's last stand, except for a few scorch marks in the grass and puddles on the _Caroline_ 's stern.

Sayaka breaks the silence. "Are you really okay with this?"

It's fine." Homura flicks her hair. "I have enough contracts to satisfy my needs for a while."

That's not what the mermaid witch meant. She understands Homura won't want to discuss it openly, though, so she tries a different tack. "You know Kyouko and I are going to see a movie the weekend after next, right? I bet I could talk Madoka into doubling up if you wanted."

Homura frowns. "A pat on the head for good behavior?"

"I didn't mean it like that," Sayaka counters. "I just thought maybe you'd like to do something together."

The devil turns away, kneeling to gather Muriel's crossbow. "Madoka wouldn't..."

"Wouldn't what, want to spend time with the person she cares about most? Have her one and only Homura-chan take her hand and say, _'Madoka, will you go out wi – '"_

"Enough." Homura can't quite smooth over the uneven note in her voice. "Stop fooling around."

"I mean it. Hearing that from you would make her really happy." Sayaka folds her arms. "But I know this isn't easy for you, so I don't mind being your go-between. Isn't that what friends are for?"

"Friends? Are we friends, Miki Sayaka?"

Even if the question is rhetorical, the blue-haired girl answers seriously. "I don't know... I don't know, but I feel like we could be if we tried. We both want the same thing, after all."

Homura is quiet for a minute, absorbed in her own thoughts. At last she finds her answer. "If Madoka wants to go, then I'll consider it."

Sayaka smiles. It's a small win, but a win nonetheless. Enough progress for one night. "Trust me, she will... So what's next? Are you going back to Mitakihara?"

"Not yet. I want to look around first." The devil places the crossbow within herself, conveying the weapon to a space only she can reach. "You feel it too, don't you?"

"Yeah... The whole city's got a heavy miasma, but why is it so thick right here?" Sayaka scrutinizes the _Caroline_. "Is it coming from that?"

"Not all of it." Homura spreads her wings and takes flight, crossing the drydock with a few swift beats, and Sayaka leaps after her.

They land beside the pump house, ignoring the prominent signs indicating closure for renovation. While Homura examines the building itself, Sayaka wanders over to the second dock which lies empty on the other side. Leaning against the handrail, she peers into a man-made chasm with stepped walls that change to a sheer drop halfway down.

Homura holds her palm against the pump house's weathered brick face, and for a few moments a faint outline fills the vacant drydock in front of Sayaka. Words fail the messenger as she stares up at the phantom, a titan of riveted plate steel with four narrow funnels looming high overhead. Then it's gone. "What was that?" she asks, turning away from the railing. "What did you find?"

"It's an old curse," the devil replies. "One which returned here from somewhere else, feeding on the people it attracts to this place... Interesting." She glances to the side, where a group of her dolls are forcing a small white animal to perform tricks in exchange for grief cubes. "Don't you think, _In-cu-ba-tor?"_


	3. Errand of Mercy

_The Persistence of Memory  
Extra Story: Notes from the Silver Garden  
Act I – Errand of Mercy_

There's a storm raging over the North Atlantic today, some irate sea god whipping up green waves under a gray sky. Sayaka is beginning to think she'd rather brave the tumult above than stay in the abyss below. Thirty-eight hundred meters down, there's no light save what she brings. The temperature is just above freezing, the pressure nearly four hundred kilograms per square centimeter.

Homura's voice comes in through her telepathic link. _"You're approaching the stern section. How is the signature?"_

Sayaka pulls herself hand over hand across the back of Oktavia's outstretched gauntlet and looks down at the seabed. Shoes, bottles, lumps of coal and porcelain articles parade beneath her, detritus of another era strewn in the muck without rhyme or reason. _"Still weak,"_ she answers. _"It's there, but I can't get a fix yet."_

The witch body's size and speed make it useful as a submarine carrier, both for Sayaka herself and for the entourage of dolls clinging to the leviathan's armor. Homura's minions come dressed for the occasion, sporting wetsuits and fins and carrying powerful lanterns. They're not what Sayaka would call good company, though she can't say she doesn't appreciate the help. This would take far longer if she had to search the whole site on her own.

Very few have witnessed what she's seeing now. For humans, the deep sea environment is almost as alien and inhospitable as outer space. Bathynauts venture forth much like their rocket-riding kin, surrounded by mechanisms to protect their delicate bodies. Sealed inside cramped capsules, they peer through tiny windows at a realm just beyond reach... But harsh as it is, the benthic frontier is no desert: now and then the lamps catch a crab or a rat-tailed fish flitting among the debris. Homura said there's an entire ecosystem down here, a cycle of life playing out in pitch black and numbing cold.

Oktavia senses an obstacle straight ahead. The lesser mermaid brings the greater to a near stop and pushes herself up for a better view, watching as a mammoth shape drifts into the light. _"We've got something,"_ she announces. _"It's huge... There's a couple of towers inside, they're round on top. Big bolts along the edges."_

" _Engines,"_ says Homura. _"You're facing the break in the hull. Keep your distance, the structure is fragile."_

" _Got it."_ The real work starts now. Sayaka lets go of Oktavia's hand and swims forward on her own. The dolls fan out, spreading their light over the submerged ruin. Gradually an eerie picture takes shape.

Time has not been kind to the ship of dreams. The upper decks have collapsed into the hull, where some immense force peeled great sheets of plating off the inner frame. Sayaka makes her way up over the top of the wreck, trying to pick out recognizable features. It's like someone dropped a massive lasagna and left it to go moldy. _"There's reddish stuff growing all over the place,"_ the visitor notes quizzically. _"What is that?"_

" _Bacterial colonies. They feed on the hull's iron."_

" _They eat metal!?"_

" _Correct,"_ the devil affirms. _"Remember this day, Miki Sayaka. What you see won't be there forever."_

Sayaka swims further, tracking her progress with Oktavia's eyes. She looks pitifully tiny, a blue speck above the broken, twisted bones of a vessel made to carry thousands. Reaching the halfway point, the mermaid realizes the entire stern section is bent in the middle, as if kicked in the side by an angry giant. There should be a mast here, but all the explorer finds are fragments of corroded pipe that might have belonged to it.

The devastation doesn't stop there. The after deck has been torn up and folded back on itself, its former leading edge hanging over the end of the hull. Sayaka goes over the precipice and glides down past the rudder. _"The signal isn't changing,"_ she reports. _"Are you sure we're looking in the right place?"_

" _It was the most likely starting point. As third class passengers, the Short family would have been quartered in the stern... For now, return to your previous course. We'll try the rest of the debris field and then the bow section."_

" _Okay."_ Sayaka hovers next to a half buried propeller and waits for Oktavia and the dolls to regroup. The screw's bronze blades alone are bigger than she is. _"Have you found out anything else about the girl?"_

" _I was able to verify parts of the Incubator's story using old records,"_ Homura replies. _"No useful details."_

The divers gather. This time the little mermaid takes point, swimming closer to the bottom than Oktavia can handle. _"I'm surprised Kyuubey was so... helpful."_

" _He knows what will happen to his quota if he isn't cooperative."_ An unpleasant feeling seeps in with the devil's words. _"Contact me when the trace changes."_

" _Yeah..."_ Sayaka lets the conversation die out, leaving her alone with the dolls, her other self, and her own thoughts.

Homura's been putting in overtime ever since they found the Belfast anomaly, using both Sayaka and her own servants to track down leads. Initial results weren't promising: according to the Law of the Cycle's collective memory, Muriel Heaney and her antecedents had assumed the curse was born either from the Great War or from the area's ongoing troubles. Kyuubey claimed to have no specific knowledge of it. The docked cruiser, a relic which spent most of its life in training duty, was quickly ruled out as a factor.

Next thing Sayaka knew, she was being summoned to Homura's apartment. As a midnight downpour fell on Mitakihara, the mermaid sat at the nutcracker's table and listened to a story about a girl from Bristol. Then she listened as her host laid out what she wanted to do. The proposed action fell outside the parameters of the Law of the Cycle and Homura could easily handle it on her own. Nevertheless, she asked the Law's messenger to take part... And so Sayaka found herself at the bottom of the sea, combing the dismembered carcass of a fifty-two thousand ton ocean liner for something that fits in the palm of her hand.

An ornate iron frame from a bench catches her eye, its wooden slats all gone. She was told the ship's builders emphasized comfort over speed, and it shows in the artifacts that have spilled out. There are plates of spotless white china, silver platters, pots and pans fit to cook a feast in. Another cache of bottles emerges from the dark, some intact, others with corks displaced by water pressure. She wonders if the sealed ones are still drinkable. Champagne of millionaires, wouldn't Kyouko love that?

As the rarefied vintages fall behind, Sayaka glances back to check on her escorts. Then she looks at the seabed and finds a pale face staring at her.

" _Gaaah!"_

The mermaid jerks away, instinctively creating a sword to defend herself. Homura senses the disturbance. _"Sayaka, what's wrong? Are you all right?"_

" _I..."_ Sayaka blinks, regaining control as the minions pin the intruder in their lights. _"I'm okay,"_ she finishes. _"False alarm. It's just a doll."_

Just the head of a doll, at that. The body, clothes and even hair have rotted away, leaving behind only a ceramic core. One of Homura's children darts down and lifts the ghastly memento from its resting place, stirring up a small cloud of silt. Did it belong to some little girl? To a collector? Whatever it was, it's not what they came for. Sayaka motions for the underling to put it back.

Homura reverts to her habitual tone. _"I believe I said the likelihood of finding human remains was negligible."_

" _I remember,"_ the vanguard answers, sheepishly discarding her weapon. _"It startled me, that's all."_

The devil doesn't bother with a reprimand. _"Any difference in the trace?"_

" _Give me a second... I think it's a little clearer now. Maybe."_

" _Then proceed."_

Sayaka does, her curiosity blunted by the scare. She swims briskly now, alert for more gruesome surprises, but thankfully none are forthcoming. The whiff of magic grows stronger, a sign she's nearing her goal.

Homura calls again after what feels like an hour. _"You're almost abreast of the tear in the bow. Turn left ninety degrees."_

" _On it."_ Sayaka executes the maneuver, reorienting herself perpendicular to Oktavia's bearing, then steers the witch onto the new course. The dolls wheel around into a flanking formation.

It takes a few more minutes for their next objective to materialize out of the murk. The front part of the ship is less damaged than the rear, although the topmost decks are collapsing here also. What's left droops and drops down to the broken end. It reminds Sayaka of an unfortunate BLT that Kyouko sawed through using a dull knife, leaving the bread squashed with ragged strips of meat and lettuce hanging out. She ascends, keeping well clear of the torn metal.

The residual magic begins to fluctuate. _"We're close now,"_ Sayaka relays mentally. _"I can feel it changing."_

" _Good."_

No more need be said. Sayaka levels off and starts to zigzag across the boat deck, passing over yawning pits where funnels and skylights were once installed. The surviving deckhouse walls carry unbroken windows, and in some places the deck itself almost seems fit to walk on. It's a different story when she gets to the forward end: the bridge has been all but obliterated, reduced to a few mangled bulwarks and the outline of a vanished wall. A bronze pedestal with a geared mechanism lies toppled beside the wall's foundation, behind a row of plaques laid by past visitors. There's also a bundle of plastic flowers and a little American flag.

The mermaid ends her scan. _"Got a rough fix. I'm pretty sure it's inside, around the expansion joint."_

" _I see."_ Homura pauses to consult her research archive. _"I suggest entering through the first class stairway, if you think you're up to it."_

" _Of course I'm up to it,"_ Sayaka insists. _"The big hole behind the joint, right?"_

" _Correct. The stairwell should give you access down to F Deck, though I can't guarantee it. No expeditions have gone into the hull for several years."_

In other words, the devil's data may not match what lies ahead. _"Okay,"_ says Sayaka. _"I'll be careful."_

Oktavia won't fit inside the wreck, so the messenger puts her second self into a holding pattern and doubles back to the staircase. The dolls shine their lights into the chasm, confirming her initial impression: there are no stairs. No steps, no banisters, just a shaft full of rust and rubbish. Ceiling lights, hemispheres of glittering crystal in gleaming mounts, dangle from dislodged wiring among ruddy stalactites. Hard to believe this used to be one of the most famous parts of a most famous vessel.

Sayaka descends with caution, slowly rotating to keep track of her surroundings. The elusive trace peaks and diminishes as she nears the bottom of the void, a pattern that repeats when she goes up again. The change tells her exactly what she wants to know. _"It's on C Deck. I need a light."_

" _Understood. Noroma, give her yours."_

A doll swims to the center of the stairwell and releases her lantern. Sayaka catches it, giving a thumbs up and receiving a salute in return. _"What should I expect in there?"_

" _First class cabins, with corridors extending forward on either side. Limited maneuvering room."_

" _All right, I'll give it a try."_

Those forces of tide and time which laid waste to the rest of the ship have had their way here as well. The ceiling sags toward the floor, which is blanketed by a thick tangle of indeterminate clutter. Much of the decor has been ripped out or rotted out. Not everything was destroyed, however: sweeping past cabins one by one, Sayaka's light falls on bathtubs, bed frames and dressers. Once more, a drop in the signal indicates she overshot the mark. Gingerly the mermaid turns herself around, retracing her path just far enough to get a second fix. If her goal lies in this part of the wreck, it's got to be in one of the rooms immediately to her left or right.

Intuition nudges her towards a smaller cabin on the inboard side of the corridor. Shimmying under the curtain of rust fingers in the buckled doorway, she encounters a wardrobe and a bed with part of a chair lying beside it. Some of the ceiling has fallen in, leaving a gap big enough to swim into the deck above. As she surveys the silt-smothered furniture, a golden glint in a nook of the chair draws her attention. She edges closer, expecting to find an errant brass fixture. It's not going to be _that_ easy, right?

The visitor reaches out with gloved hands. She can't avoid disturbing the dust of ages, but the swirling flecks that arise at her touch aren't enough to conceal the treasure. _"...Bingo! Homura, I found it!"_

" _What's the condition?"_

Sayaka holds the soul gem up to her lantern. Corrosion has not blemished its surface, yet the core's proper hue of pastel orange is only faintly visible at the edges of the churning maelstrom within. _"Pretty badly contaminated,"_ the diver answers. _"I'm bringing it out."_

" _I'll meet you at the stairs."_

With a firm grip on her prize, Sayaka ducks through the doorway and back into the corridor. She can't afford to be careless, even for an instant: this jewel in her hand is the sole remnant of missing magical girl Agnes Short.

It's a rare aberration, a phenomenon Madoka didn't know about when she made her wish to change the world. A body without a soul gem decays naturally, but a gem without a body may linger until despair or madness consumes it. In most cases, the orphaned ghost reaches its limit in weeks or months. Under exceptional circumstances, it can take much longer. Agnes has lain here over a hundred years and might have lain for decades more, deprived of sense and movement, forgotten by history and lost to the Law of the Cycle.

Homura is floating in the stairwell when Sayaka reenters, clad in a wetsuit that matches her children's apparel. No words are exchanged as Sayaka lays down her lamp and the pair come together to complete their task. The mermaid holds out the gem and the devil lays her hands over it. Sayaka feels a ripple in the magic which permeates the shattered ship, a disturbance of a sinister equilibrium. The gem's heart darkens to inky black. Madoka bursts into being above devil and angel, flooding the abyss with a light that touches every crevice.

Sayaka rises to meet her best friend as the goddess descends headfirst. The messenger arches onto her back, forming a bodily symmetry with the Law's avatar. Shrouded by their fingers, Agnes Short's ordeal comes to its overdue conclusion. Her soul gem implodes into a puff of tiny orange bubbles, shimmering for a moment and then gone. The curse she raised, a final retaliation against the birthplace of her tomb, will not endure.

Sorrow clouds Madoka's face. _"She lost hope,"_ she confides. _"She thought I abandoned her."_ The goddess twists until she can see both of her companions. _"Thank you so much for doing this."_

The heartfelt gratitude which shines through her sadness is all Sayaka needs. _"We'll find the others,"_ the blue-haired girl promises. _"We'll find them and bring them home."_

Madoka dissolves into luminous particles, her smile the last to go as darkness reclaims the cavern. Now that it's over, Sayaka feels more relief than elation. She hopes this success will be only the first of many, and that she and Homura will continue to bring Madoka's promise to the unfortunates marooned in faraway places.

The devil hasn't spoken since before the rendezvous. A beam from a doll's lamp falls on her from above, highlighting a dour expression that Sayaka knows too well. _"We_ _ **are**_ _going to keep looking,"_ the second girl prompts. _"Right?"_

Homura doesn't meet her eyes. _"Madoka... was happy, wasn't she?"_

Sayaka hears the unspoken plea behind the question. _"Yeah,"_ she replies softly. _"She really was."_

" _Then we'll proceed."_ The water enveloping Homura twists into a silent vortex as she departs the scene. _"The next case is closer to home,"_ her disembodied voice adds. _"Your instructions will be ready soon."_

" _Okay."_ The mermaid heads for open water at the top of the shaft. _"Mind if I finish looking around? You did say this place isn't going to last."_

" _If you must, be quick about it."_

Sayaka will. There's something she wants to do, although she doesn't yet know whether she can make it work. Clearing the boat deck, she reunites with Oktavia and sets a course back to the bridge. The dolls keep pace, focusing their lights on the disintegrating structure below. They cross the expansion joint, straight as a knife cut across the hull, and the jagged mouth of the foremost funnel uptake. The deckhouse roof around it is eaten away at the edges like burnt paper.

The memorial plaques make for somber reading. Fifteen hundred lives were cut short here, young and old alike consigned to the icy deep for want of a few rowboats. These tokens of remembrance, placed at no small expense, offer mute testimony to the legacy they left behind. Even without magic, humans have their own ways of bestowing a kind of immortality. Now Sayaka wishes to offer a small contribution of her own.

Materials enchantment is not her strong suit, and she lacks the chemical or metallurgical background to start from scratch. Fortunately there's a suitable template at hand, in the form of the steering pedestal. Sayaka doesn't need to know the exact composition of the hardware's alloy, just that it endures in these conditions. She reaches out to the overturned instrument, not quite touching, and concentrates on the shape she desires. Her sapphire earring glows as she draws upon it, a fragment of a vanquished devil's power.

The end result is pretty good, she thinks. Bronze can't capture the original color, but its shape perfectly duplicates the form of a soul gem tipped with a tiny crucifix. Sayaka turns it over, inspecting for flaws and finding none. It needs an inscription, she thinks, a little something to make it more than an anonymous trinket. She's not much of a poet, though, so she keeps the embellishment simple. Then she carefully sets her replica among the larger plaques, its engraved front facing forward:

AGNES SHORT  
1897 – 1912

Her work complete, it's time to move on. Sayaka swims towards the bow, over the splintered remains of the foremast and the paired cargo cranes in the well deck at the foot of the bridge. This seems to be the best preserved part of the ship, with broad bollards, anchor chains and lengths of handrail standing intact on the forecastle. A few more plaques lie atop the bollards, though she doesn't stop to read them. Finally she reaches the prow, where a small crane forlornly points into the dark. Turning back, the mermaid allows herself one last look at this monument to man's ingenuity and hubris before she ascends.

" _I'm done,"_ she tells Homura. _"Need anything else?"_

" _No. You can return to the Law of the Cycle."_

" _All right."_ The lights wink out one by one as the dolls take their leave. _"...Hey, transfer student?"_

" _What is it?"_

" _Thanks for worrying about me."_

" _Don't get the wrong idea,"_ the devil retorts. _"Madoka would be upset if I let anything happen to you."_

Sayaka smiles. She knows better.


	4. Apple and Strawberry

_The Persistence of Memory_   
_Extra Story: Notes from the Silver Garden_   
_Act II – Apple and Strawberry_

On the east side of Mitakihara, beyond the industrial district and the Kazamino border line, there stands an abandoned cathedral. It's been empty for some time, stripped of valuables and frequented only by stray cats and dogs. Urban explorers and paranormal enthusiasts visit once in a while, drawn by tales of a grisly murder-suicide and a vengeful spirit which drives away would-be squatters. They never stay long.

"Here we are," says Kyouko. "Welcome to my home."

Chie looks at the forsaken church, at Kyouko, and back at the church again. The trees outside appear healthy enough, yet those gray stone walls give a gloomy feeling even in sunshine. "You... live in there?"

"Yeah." The shorter redhead steps forward. "C'mon, we don't wanna be late."

There's a lot Chie still doesn't understand about the Mitakihara magical girls. She's grateful to Kyouko and Mami for their kind guidance, she really is, but sometimes they say things the novice can scarcely believe. So far she's been afraid to pry too deeply, to ask why neither of them have families or why they speak of the Law of the Cycle like a dear friend. She tried asking Kyuubey once, when he came around to collect her grief cubes. He merely said he wasn't allowed to discuss it.

Despite the church's dilapidated condition, its door is fastened with a new looking padlock. Kyouko produces a key from her shorts pocket and opens it, drawing a squeal of protest from the hinges. Chie follows her inside, beginning to regret wearing such a nice blouse and skirt this afternoon. Floorboards creak underfoot and a musty smell hangs heavy in the air. "It's cozier than it looks," Kyouko tells her. "There's a public bath and a convenience store pretty near by."

Chie stays close behind, unable to see clearly until her eyes adjust. "I guess the owner doesn't come here much..."

"I'm the owner." Kyouko says it without pride or joy. "It's a long story." She opens a door and ducks into a side room, reappearing with a plastic shopping bag. "Don't trip on the rug."

They go deeper into the shadowy maze, twisting and turning. Chie starts to feel as if someone else is watching them. She tells herself it's only her imagination, wound up by the spooky stories about this place. The feeling doesn't go away, however, and at one point she could swear she hears a voice whispering _"Apfel bringt Erdbeere."_ Then Kyouko opens another door and Chie is dazzled by colorful light.

Knowing very little of Christian practice, she guesses this is a communal worship space. The walls and ceiling are lined with masterworks of stained glass, the floor occupied by rows of wide benches with an aisle down the center. At the far end is a simple wooden lectern on a raised platform, a large cross affixed to the front. A girl with long black hair sits at its foot, balancing a well worn MacBook Ultra on her knees. She wears the uniform of Mitakihara Middle School with tights underneath, though Chie doesn't recall ever seeing her there.

The seated girl directs a frosty look at the new arrivals. "I trust Akayama Chie is here for a reason."

"Of course she is." Kyouko shuts the door and walks up the aisle, unfazed by the cool reception. "Gimme a minute, okay?" She goes to the back of the lectern and kneels facing the window, head bowed and hands clasped.

Chie wonders who or what her mentor is praying for. Then she begins to feel awkward, left standing alone between the benches. After some seconds, the stranger acknowledges her discomfort. "You may as well sit down."

The rookie does. The unfriendly welcome leaves her ill at ease and she finds the renewed silence oppressive. "Um..."

Pitiless eyes flick in her direction. "Yes?"

"You're Akemi Homura, aren't you?"

The laptop girl makes a curt noise of assent. "I suppose the others have told you about me."

"They said..." Chie swallows. "They said you're some kind of demon."

"That's right. I'm an evil being who leads magical girls astray, tempting them away from the Law of the Cycle."

It feels like a test, or maybe a challenge. Either way, Chie's too confused and intimidated to work up a clever riposte. "But... if you're against the Law, why are you helping us?"

"My reasons are my own." Homura carries on typing. "It's fine if you don't understand."

Fortunately Kyouko rejoins them at that moment. "Go easy on Akayama-kun," she admonishes. "She's a good girl."

The show of support helps. So does the jumbo candy bar which the spear wielder pulls out of her bag. "Thanks," Chie murmurs self-consciously.

"My pleasure." Kyouko takes another for herself and plops down beside her shy pupil. "So how did the thing with Sayaka go?"

"Well enough," replies Homura. "Her efficiency could be improved."

Plastic crinkles as the seasoned huntress unwraps her snack. "But she did okay for her first time, right?"

"Adequately."

Chie follows her senior's lead and opens the confection. Kyouko is already wolfing down her own bar, talking between bites. "You got more of these jobs lined up?"

"A few." Homura lifts up her laptop's carry bag and takes out a manila folder. "This is the next case." She hands a sheet of paper to Kyouko, who holds it so Chie can see as well.

It's a copy of an aged photograph showing a row of eight girls, all of them around middle school age. They wear the traditional costume of shrine maidens, but their hands grip long-barreled rifles fitted with long-bladed bayonets. Stood upright, the weapons are taller than the wielders. Those at either end have a rising sun flag tied to their guns, and Chie recognizes a portrait of the former emperor mounted on the wall behind them. A severe man in a dark military uniform and peaked cap lurks beneath it, glowering into the camera. The face of the second girl from the right has been circled in ballpoint. There's no explanation, just a note scrawled on the margin with the same implement: _Original dated Shouwa 18.2 on reverse._

Kyouko shares Chie's puzzlement. "What's that?"

"It seems that during the war, a certain group of magical girls came under control of the Imperial Navy. One of them, Moriwaki Aoi, is not accounted for in the Law of the Cycle."

"And you know where she is?"

"Roughly." Homura exchanges the sheet for two others. "Within an area of about four hundred square kilometers."

The first of these pages is another old picture, its subject a dreadnought lumbering left to right across the frame. Six turrets and a superstructure towering over the hull like a lopsided pagoda give a top-heavy appearance. It's escorted by a smaller vessel with a high prow and two raked funnels, the name _Amakaze_ spelled along the side in blocky katakana. Like the girl from before, the little ship is circled. This image was scanned from a book, judging by the caption printed neatly in English underneath: _Plate XXXVII – battleship Hyuuga after modernization._

The last paper's content is also a scene photographed at sea. It was taken from an airplane, a dark wingtip with a star-and-bar emblem visible at the bottom. A ship of the same kind as _Amakaze_ lies stricken in the water below, rolling to the left and settling by the stern. Its rearmost turret has been smashed, part of the adjacent deck torn asunder and smoking. There's a label, again in English but written freehand in white letters: _JAP DD SUNK 140 MI WSW KAGOSHIMA APR 7 '45._

Kyouko whistles. "You got your work cut out for you."

"Maybe." Homura takes back the documents and places them in the folder. "Now, perhaps you'd like to tell me the purpose of this meeting?"

"Oh yeah." Kyouko pockets the crumpled candy wrapper. "Go for it, Akayama-kun."

Chie would be hard pressed to think of a more daunting task right now. If Homura dislikes her already, can this end in anything but more humiliation? Even so, she knows it's too late to turn back. "I've been working on a... a proximity fuze for my rockets, so they only explode close to wraiths. Sakura-san is teaching me how to steer them, too... She said you have a safe place where I could train, and maybe some targets?"

"I see." The demon tilts her head. "You're asking a large favor of me. What can you offer in return?"

Unspoiled grief cubes are the common currency of the trade, but Chie has none. "I've got about a hundred and eighty thousand yen saved up..."

"I don't need your money." Homura folds up her computer and puts it aside. "Naivety and timidity are fatal weaknesses, Akayama Chie. A magical girl who can't overcome them is no use to me."

"I can!" The words are out of the tall girl's mouth before she quite realizes what she's saying. "I'm sure I can," she amends, the flash of defiance fading as quick as it came. "I just need more practice."

There's no immediate response to the outburst. Homura dips into Kyouko's bag and takes out a can of coffee, prying up the pull tab with a soft hiss. "And once you've had your practice, what is your desire?"

"Desire..." It takes a couple of seconds to grasp the demon's meaning. The question does have an answer, albeit one many in this line of work would scorn or deride. Kyouko and Mami encouraged it, though, which gives Chie a little confidence. "I want to be strong enough to protect this city and help others, the way Sakura-san and Tomoe-sempai do."

Her aspiration is spared mockery, but not skepticism. "Charity is seldom rewarded in our world. You've been a magical girl long enough to know this." Homura sips her drink. "The others will tell you the same."

Chie nods. "The girls I worked with before only cared about themselves, always fighting for the most cubes. Now I know a magical girl can be more than that... Maybe I made a bad wish, but I can still do some good with the power it gave me. I want to try my best, even if it only makes a small difference in the end."

"Tell her about the quote," Kyouko interjects. "I liked that part."

"Ah..." Chie wasn't sure whether to mention that, since Kyouko said her appeal shouldn't depend on pretty rhetoric. "It's something President Kennedy said," she explains. "My dad has it framed in his office. 'We choose to do these things, not because they are easy, but because they are hard.'"

The demon sips again. "This represents your feelings?"

"Yeah."

"Is there anything else you wish to add?"

The interview seems about to end. Chie can't tell whether her pleas have had any effect. "No..."

The church falls into silence once more, disturbed only by a raucous crow outside. Homura drinks, Chie frets, and Kyouko opens a box of Pocky. Chie feels like a bug under a magnifying glass, intently scrutinized yet pitifully insignificant. How long will this trial go on?

"...Very well."

The petitioner's sagging figure jerks upright. "Eh..? You mean you'll do it?"

"I'll give you a chance to demonstrate your ability. If you pass, you can have your training ground."

It's not quite full approval, but Chie won't let the opportunity be squandered. Hastily she gets to her feet and bows at the waist. "Thank you so much. I promise I won't let you down."

Her appreciation is met with indifference. "There's one condition," Homura states. "Your infatuation with Tomoe Mami will not be requited. Give it up."

"Uhk..!" Chie freezes, blindsided by the demon's candor. She doesn't know whether to deny it, ask how Homura found out, or try to defend her attraction. "I... That..."

Kyouko stands up. "It's okay," she says, laying a hand on the novice's shoulder. "Trust me, you're not the first girl to fall for Mami."

Chie's cheeks redden. "It's just... Tomoe-sempai is so..."

"I get where you're coming from, I really do." The ponytailed girl gives her understudy a comforting pat. "But she's already got someone."

If that's how it is, then the outcome is clearly defeat. "I understand."

Thankfully Homura doesn't linger on the subject. "We'll begin soon," she says, also rising. "If you're going to eat, do it now."

"Eat?" Only now does Chie remember the candy bar. Her anxious clenching has crushed it inside the wrapper, extruding a glob of caramel. She quickly bites into the sweet, lest it start dripping.

The demon snaps her fingers and a great bell tolls once, high overhead. There comes a patter of running feet and a door opens, admitting a fourth girl. She wears wire rimmed glasses, her rust-brown hair drawn into twin tails. An oversize maroon tracksuit hangs off her petite frame. Although rather short, she looks about the same age as the others.

Homura introduces the stranger. "This is Park Song-yi, a guest from the east."

Song-yi bows. "Greetings."

Chie returns the gesture. "I'm Akayama Chie. Nice to meet you."

Kyouko greets the latecomer in her own way, holding out the Pocky box. "You sleep okay?"

"Yes, thank you." Song-yi takes a stick. She speaks modestly and with a marked accent, though she sounds comfortable conversing in Japanese.

Homura continues to be all business. "Tomoe Mami has gone to retrieve your brother. In the meantime, I – "

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Kyouko cuts in. "Mami's in Chiba? She didn't tell me anything about that."

"I'm sure she did." Homura brushes a hand through her hair. "Check your messages."

"I would have gotten a ring..." Kyouko takes out her phone and pushes the power button, to no result. "Uh oh."

She's alarmed, Song-yi is worried, and Chie understands neither. "What's happening in Chiba?"

"It's ugly." Her mentor crams the inoperative handset back into her hoodie. "A gang of really tough girls moved in last month and started squeezing the locals. Came down from somewhere in Touhoku... At first it was shakedowns and stealing, now they're kidnapping for ransom too."

"They took my brother," Song-yi adds. "They said I have to pay them a lot of cubes or give up my territory."

"One of Mami's old students got wind and sent her to us." Kyouko turns to Homura. "Why'd you let Mami go alone?"

"I didn't," says the demon flatly. "Momoe Nagisa is with her. Hashimoto Zoya will join them."

"Zoya..." Kyouko's eyes widen. "Zoya the Burner!? Since when does she work for you?"

"She was eligible for a contract. I made an offer and she accepted."

"You're kidding me... That's a joke, right? No way the friggin' _Burner_ made a contract."

Chie looks from one to the other in bewilderment. All she knows is that Mami might be in peril. "Who is Zoya?"

"She's Russian," answers Kyouko. "Or half Russian, I forget. She hasn't got her own territory, so she does dirty jobs for other girls. Like, they pay her to knock off their rivals and stuff. She's called the Burner 'cause she roasts 'em alive."

"That's horrible!"

"You shouldn't give too much credence to third-hand rumors," remarks Homura. "Nor assume that I made this decision lightly. I would not have used Hashimoto Zoya if I considered her a threat."

Kyouko isn't satisfied. "But still, making Mami and Nagisa work with someone like that..."

"Their opponents are survivors of the Northern Territories War. An ally with the same experience is needed." A frown tugs at the corners of Homura's mouth. "Or would you rather have your friends walk blindly into a battle they aren't prepared for?"

"No..." It's a grudging acquiescence. "I just hope you're right."

So does Chie. She also wants to know what Homura meant by a war, but the demon's attention swings back to Song-yi before she can speak: "As I was saying, I would like you to assist Akayama Chie in a test of her skill. It won't be dangerous."

Song-yi nods. "Of course."

"Good." Homura waves her empty hand and the church turns inside out.

Chie blinks. She and the others are back in Mitakihara, standing at the top of the hill in the park. It's nighttime, the air clear and cool. Only Song-yi seems to share her bafflement at this sudden change. Turning around, the apprentice is startled to see what's happened to the city itself. Where did those aqueducts come from? Why are there blimps patrolling with spotlights? _What is that flying thing?_

It looks like a fever dream teddy bear with a second, deformed head grafted on top, dancing among the brightly lit high-rises. "That is a nightmare," announces Homura. "This one can't hurt you, but it will evade your attacks. Your goal is to destroy it."

"Okay..." Chie hurriedly finishes the mangled candy bar and tucks away the wrapper. Knowing the moment of truth has arrived, she closes her eyes and breathes in. Her day clothes vanish, replaced by a gold-trimmed scarlet leotard and knee boots. "Ready, Park-san?"

Song-yi switches into a sky blue Mao suit and soft cap, embellished with white lily motifs. "Ready."

They leap forward together, bounding down the hill towards their waiting prey. It soon becomes obvious they're in a Potemkin city, with no cars, no pedestrians, not even a whisper of life on any street. Chie could hardly ask for a finer sparring ground, yet the construct's depth and detail leave her uneasy. Is this what a demon's power can do?

The nightmare is wandering around a traffic overpass when the pursuers catch up to it. That's good for Chie, who needs open space to make effective attacks. Alighting on an exit ramp, she materializes one of her improved weapons in its back-slung carrying configuration. Song-yi does the same, filling her hands with a sledgehammer by Fabergé. "Who will strike first?" she asks.

"I guess I should," Chie replies. "Unless you can hit it from here."

"I can." Song-yi adjusts her grip and posture, moving her feet apart and lowering her center of gravity. "We go on three?"

"Yeah." Chie reaches up to grab the control handles and raises the six-tube launcher into position above her head. "One! Two! Three! _Panzerwerfer zu Fuss!"_

The first rocket shoots out with a shrill whoop and a plume of red smoke. At the same instant, Song-yi spins and hurls the sledgehammer in the same direction. It outruns the rocket, hitting the airborne monster right in its plushy center. The nightmare squeaks like a rubber toy and lurches away from its assailants, firing pillow-shaped missiles from stumpy arms.

* * *

Kyouko and Homura look on from the hilltop as the target bobs and shakes, buffeted by a string of near misses. The last rocket detonates beside an apartment complex. "That's why I wanted Akayama-kun to do it here," says Kyouko, watching the glimmer of broken glass raining down.

Homura refills her can and takes a long sip. "She has much to learn."

"She'll learn." The redhead starts on her eighth Pocky stick. "Thanks for taking her on. I was sure you were gonna say no for a minute there."

"I'm aware that you and Tomoe Mami are concerned about finding successors," Homura points out. "You wouldn't have brought that girl if you didn't believe in her potential."

Kyouko nods, crunching the biscuit between her teeth. "I owe you one."

The devil flicks her hair. "It's an investment, not a favor. Akayama Chie may be needed sooner than you expect."

"In case something happens to us? Or in case the stuff we do attracts the wrong people?"

"Perhaps both."

A cry of _"Schräge Musik!"_ rings out, followed by a staccato _pom-pom-pom_ as a flurry of crimson tracers pelt the nightmare from below. It veers off, clipping the corner of an office building in its haste to escape.

"Are you okay with that? Having her on the team and all?"

"Someone who stays up late to watch reruns of _Panzer Shoujo Mogami Maki_ wouldn't be my first choice," Homura says bluntly. "But it's not my decision."

"Doesn't mean we don't care what you think." Kyouko glances at her neighbor. "How do you know what she watches?"

"She has a limited edition phone strap on her school bag. I assume that's where she learned about proximity fuzes."

"Huh... What about the crush on Mami?"

"Manuke and Ibari overheard her asking other third-years whether Tomoe Mami was seeing anyone." Homura swirls the coffee with a gentle motion. "Were you aware of it?"

"I kind of wondered," Kyouko admits. "Figured Mami would know a nice way to turn her down."

Six rockets go up all at once, bracketing the nightmare with flak bursts.

"I really hope Mami's okay out there."


	5. Idi i smotri

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is brought to you with apologies to Aleksandr Rozenbaum, Pavel Gorinshteyn and Pyotr Lavrov.

_The Persistence of Memory_  
_Extra Story: Notes from the Silver Garden_  
_Act III – Idi i smotri_

Chiba's a very different city from Mitakihara. It's older, dirtier, a centerpiece of the thriving industrial sprawl that covers the northeast shore of Tokyo Bay. Docks and shipyards share the waterfront with heavy manufacturing and chemical plants. A dozen kilometers inland, bustling farms produce peanuts, carrots and pears. The lights never go out here, the roads are never empty.

Such things may look good on an economic promotion pamphlet, but Mami would rather go to the zoo or the art museum if she were visiting for leisure. Tonight it's all business. Leisure will have to wait until she's safely home with a nice airy lemon cake and a pot of chamomile tea to help her unwind. She well knows how jealously magical girls defend their territories. Trespassing, even with noble purpose, is not to be taken lightly.

She puts her guard up as she and Nagisa exit the train. They're on hostile ground, occupied by ruthless and dangerous opponents. By no means are they stepping into the hornets' nest unprepared. Mitakihara to Tokyo is nearly two hours by Shinkansen, plus a transfer to commuter metro for the final run to Chiba-Minato Station. Mami used the transit interval to study her map, looking for escape routes and ambush points.

Having Nagisa at her side, combined with her own curvaceous figure, provides a measure of camouflage. During the switchover in Tokyo, an elderly lady complimented Mami on having such a well behaved daughter. On the intercity line, a young mother gave her tips for taking her lovely little sister sightseeing. Under this familial charade, they might be overlooked by anyone trying to spot an infiltration...

She feels Nagisa's hand close around hers as they cross the Chiba-Minato parking area. "Don't worry, Mami-san. You're not alone."

Mami does her best to smile in spite of the grave task ahead. "I know."

It's not all a charade to her. A daughter she never had? A sister she never had? She would be honored to accept Nagisa as either of these. Their relationship is unlike those between Kyouko and Sayaka or Madoka and Homura, yet close and caring in its own way. The time they spend together is most precious to her, and she knows it is for Nagisa as well.

"We go right at the police station, don't we?"

"Yes." Mami can see it at the end of the street. This would be a spectacularly foolish place to attack her even if she _didn't_ have a personal escort from the Law of the Cycle, but she tries to keep her eyes and ears open regardless. There's a brief wait for lights to change at the intersection, then they turn southward onto a four lane road lined with trees and stringently manicured hedges. Their destination is the Chiba Port Tower, a narrow lozenge of mirrored glass standing tall against the evening sky. That's where Homura's agent should be waiting.

" _Gop-stop! My podoshli iz-za ugla..."_ A girl steps out from the shadow of a tree and starts to follow them, quietly singing. _"Gop-stop! Ty mnogo na sebya vzyala... Teper rasplachivatsya pozdno, posmotri na zvozdy, posmotri na eto nebo..."_ They stop, and so does she. "Zdravstvuyte, baryshni."

Mami examines the stranger carefully. She's of medium height and a bit thin, with white hair kept short at the back and sides. A pair of longer forelocks frame a heart-shaped face and humorless emerald eyes. Her clothes are a shabby collage of threadbare denim jacket, t-shirt and jeans worn through at the knees, accessorized with scuffed sneakers and a hiking rucksack. Contrasted against Mami's fashionably modest brown pullover and slacks or Nagisa's mustard shirtdress, she looks like a homeless waif trying to get a handout.

She also looks like the person described by Homura. Mami gives the assigned password. "Dixie."

"Flatline."

The response is correct. The blond gunner lets herself relax just a little. "You must be Hashimoto-san."

The girl nods. "Hashimoto, Zoya Matveyevna. Volshebnaya nayomnitsa." She appraises Mami in turn, lingering on her ample bosom. "A ty Tovarishch Narkom."

That doesn't sound like a greeting. "I'm Tomoe Mami from Mitakihara. This is Momoe Nagisa."

"Ya znayu." Zoya the Burner turns around and heads back up the sidewalk, gesturing for them to follow. "Chornaya Koroleva told me," she goes on, switching to Japanese with a strong northern accent. "You're here to take out the Sapporo Eleven."

Mami would rather say she's here to protect innocent lives, but Homura warned her that one may require the other. "If I have to," she replies.

"You will." Zoya sidesteps to avoid an oncoming family. "We'll talk later."

Night creeps nearer as she leads them into narrower streets. Once they've gone a minute without seeing another person, Mami hazards a question. "May I ask why you weren't at the tower?"

"Waste of time, going there and back."

"I see..." It would be good to try and establish a rapport before the action begins. Victory depends on cooperation. "I understand you're a freelancer. How does that work?"

"Find a job, kill wraiths, get paid. Not complicated."

A small delivery truck passes the trio. "What sorts of payment do you take?"

"Cash, cubes or pussy. No drugs."

Mami does her best to take it in stride. "Is... is that so? Do you earn a lot?"

"Why, you want in?" Zoya glances back at her. "That's fine. I'm out."

"Out? You're giving it up?"

"Yeah." The Burner turns at the next corner. "I work for Koroleva now."

That seems to be her name for the devil in Mitakihara. Since she's not eager to talk about herself, perhaps it's best to move on. "Akemi-san said you know the Eleven. What can you tell me about them?"

Zoya likes this topic better. "Been together since winter. They bicker a lot, would fight if Katou didn't keep them in line. Want to be big players here."

"There aren't any girls in Chiba who can stand up to them?"

"Not now. Not since they made a deal with Teresa."

"Teresa?"

"Teresa Kurz. Argentine German, lives in Edogawa. Big city kingpin... You see her, call her Mother Teresa. Anywhere else, she's Teresa the Plank." Zoya pats her chest. "She wears pads."

Wouldn't like Mami, by the sound of it. "You've met her?"

"Worked for her once... Wait." Zoya slips into a sheltered space, not quite an alley, between two buildings. "It's clear." She shrugs off her pack and sets it next to an empty dumpster. Mami and Nagisa join her, stepping over a few hardy weeds which sprout from the cracked pavement.

The Burner takes out a pack of cigarettes and puts one between her lips. The sight of a thirteen year old getting ready to light up alarms Mami even more than her casual talk of sexual favors. "You know that's unhealthy, don't you?"

Zoya fishes out a disposable lighter. "Doesn't matter," she says flatly. "Law of Cycles will kill me first."

"Please," Mami insists. "Not in front of Nagisa."

Zoya's mood sours, but she obeys the request. "Proklyatiye... What else, Narkom?"

"The leader, Katou Sakura."

"Mean, swears a lot. Dyes her hair." The Burner opens her rucksack and starts taking out things wrapped in oil-spotted rags. "Specialty is armor."

"Strong armor?"

"Saw it stop a Vampir." Zoya unwraps a pair of metal pipes with a piece of wood attached to them. "Double-warhead RPG... She's a coward, though. She'll run before she bites."

"Interesting." Mami watches another piece emerge from its shroud. "What's that?"

"Stevens." The laconic girl snaps the parts together, assembling a pump shotgun. The barrel and stock have been chopped with a hacksaw, the grip stump wrapped in masking tape. "You want it?"

"Er... No, thank you."

"Suit yourself." Zoya puts it aside and takes out a Minebea submachine gun, a compact model formerly used by the Self-Defense Forces. "Katou won't give up easy," she cautions. "She'll hide in her shell and let the others fight you... Take this."

She gives Mami a Colt pistol that looks and rattles like it's seen hard use. Mami hands it back. "I'm sorry, I can't. I've never used one before."

"Mami-san doesn't need your guns," declares Nagisa. "She's really strong."

The interruption draws a look of contempt. _"They_ have guns," the Burner tells Mami. "We learned from the Russians, that's why we lived."

"Russians? In the war, you mean?"

"Yeah."

Mami knows very little of the conflict which took place last winter, the so-called Northern Territories War. Most of the rumors she's heard are too absurd to take seriously. This isn't the time to ask about it, however. "I appreciate your concern, but I'm sure my weapons are sufficient."

Zoya won't take her word for it. "Show me."

"All right." With a flash of yellow, Mami summons her battle dress. It's flawless as always, from the white-plumed cap to the stylish bustier and sturdy boots. She creates a rifled musket and holds it out for inspection.

The hired help looks at it critically. "One shot?"

"I can make as many as I need. Bigger, too."

Zoya pulls out the Minebea's magazine. "Twenty-five," she says, turning it so Mami can see the conical black tip of the bullet on top. "Armor piercing." She slaps it back in and takes a small package from the rucksack. "You'll need these if you only fight with magic."

The gift is a flat case made of orange plastic, with a cross emblem and the legend _АПТЕЧКА ИНДИВИДУАЛЬНАЯ_ molded into the lid. Mami opens it, revealing a neat array of grief cubes padded with a scrap of cloth. Much more useful than a handgun. "Thank you," she replies, binding it to her hip with a ribbon.

"Not like I can use them." The Burner switches her soul gem from ring to standalone form. The motif is a five-pointed star and the lime colored core is stained by a heavy curse. That would worry Mami, if not for the silhouette of a black salamander burned into the gem's face. This girl is under the devil's protection.

Zoya straightens and makes a full transformation, discarding worn out street clothes for something grander. Her uniform is a silver-buttoned green tunic with a matching kepi and boots worn over white breeches. The gem becomes a star pin affixed to her right collar, matching a red one on the left. Add a little grace and charm and she could be a prince from a school play.

Mami notices something missing from the ensemble. "You don't have a magic weapon?"

"I do." Zoya adds waist and hip pouches to her outfit and fills them with ammunition. "You won't like it."

Clearly an uncomfortable subject. Mami drops the inquiry in favor of another. "The Eleven hide out at a small office, don't they?"

The Burner nods. "Bankrupt shipping depot. One floor, warehouse at the back. They pay off the watchman." She dumps out a bag of shotgun shells, ribbed slugs in translucent hulls. One goes into the Stevens' breech and five more into the magazine tube. "Expect a lookout."

"Will they all be there?"

Zoya pushes the rucksack behind the dumpster. "This hour, they should be. Prisoners too."

"How would they respond to an attack? Would they harm the hostages?"

"If it's me, maybe. Some girl they don't know, maybe not." Zoya straps the pistol to her right leg and rigs the shotgun in a harness under her left arm. The submachine gun hangs by its sling from her shoulder. "You play dumb and walk in the front door, they'll try to scare you off. Koroleva says you're good at tying people up."

Get close and disarm them by surprise, in other words. "I can do that," Mami agrees.

"Good," says the Burner. "One more thing." She takes the green star off her collar and closes her fingers around it. When she opens her hand, it's gone. "Cover up your gems and put them somewhere safe."

It's not a precaution one would take when fighting wraiths or nightmares, but Mami sees the prudence of the command. Removing her soul gem from its hairpin fitting, she wraps it in a reinforced ribbon and ties it at the back of her waist. "Like this?"

"Like that. You too, kid."

Nagisa scowls at Zoya's attitude. "No need," Mami intercedes quickly. "If you please, Bebe?"

The younger girl shrinks dramatically, taking the adorable form of a witch who loved cheese. _"Fromage blanc!"_ she squeaks, waving at Zoya with stubby arms in too-long sleeves.

The Burner barely reacts to the change. "Cute trick. You ready for this, Narkom?"

Mami senses impatience. "Just a moment," she answers, reaching for the smartphone in the hidden pocket of her skirt. She's received no texts or calls, which is a bit worrying because Kyouko should have gotten her message by now. Perhaps she's in the devil's realm and can't get a signal... or she simply forgot to charge her phone. Mami types out a brief update and forwards a copy to Homura. "There."

"Voprosy yest? Voprosov net." Zoya turns away. "Ladno, poshli."

* * *

The former Chiba branch of Pacific Maritime Transit Co., Ltd. is a drab squat building that almost passes for derelict. Its windows are sloppily blacked out, letting telltale slivers of light leak through. If the Sapporo Eleven are keeping watch, there's no way they'll miss Mami strolling across the parking lot with Bebe perched on her shoulder.

She deliberately lingers outside the entrance to give any unseen lookouts a good view of their visitor. Then it's on to the real work. The front door is locked but not enchanted, and a few seconds of prying with a ribbon defeats this measure. Mami eases it open and finds the inner door isn't secured at all. So far so good.

There are seven girls assembled on the other side of the lobby's bare reception desk, pale and sullen under the anemic glow of the overhead fluorescents. All but one are in magical dress. The seventh has a mop of electric blue hair and a vinyl crop top and miniskirt, cheap knockoffs of the latest pop idol must-have. She cradles a Howa automatic rifle, finger on the trigger as she eyes Mami venomously. "The fuck do you want, balloon tits?"

"I'm here to take custody of Park Song-ho," Mami replies. "As well as the others you've kidnapped."

The underlings pull out a medley of slashing and stabbing weapons, a double-barrel shotgun, and a few pistols. The boss levels her rifle. "Get lost."

"Perhaps I didn't make myself clear – "

Thunder fills the room. Bebe jumps off as blades pierce Mami's heart, bullets ripping through her defenseless body. The blond girl unravels, dispersing into a shower of torn ribbons... and then Zoya wrenches the door open. Another Mami steps forward, surrounded by floating muskets. Katou Sakura makes a break for the corridor at the back. A couple of her abandoned lackeys dive behind the meager shelter of the desk. Mami unleashes a divided volley into the floor and ceiling. New ribbons shoot out, ensnaring the minions in a tangled web. Half the gang is out of action.

One girl, suspended upside down, recognizes the gunfighter's accomplice. _"You!"_

"Otyebis!" Zoya darts past her. "Za mnoy, Narkom!"

"Coming!" Mami scoops up Bebe and advances to the hallway, ignoring the vitriolic obscenities flung at her back. Her captives can curse and struggle all they like. They're not getting out until she allows it.

The Burner hugs the corridor's left wall, checking side rooms one by one with submachine gun in hand. Mami readies a snaplock and does the same on the right. Their paths converge at the final door, the one through which Katou fled. Mami tries the knob. It turns but the door won't budge. Zoya pulls out her shotgun and gestures for the older girl to cover her ears. She fires a slug into the edge of the frame near the bottom, a second in the middle, and a third below the top. A hard kick knocks the obstacle off its ruined hinges.

Wild gunfire greets the breakthrough, bullets tearing the carpet and carving long scars in the wallpaper. One errant round flies high and smashes a ceiling light. Zoya leans out for a peek and a snap shot. "I see two," she reports, racking the Stevens. "They have a shield."

Mami takes a look for herself as her comrade keeps trading shots with the opposition. The next room contains cubicle blocks in a grid of aisles. Two of the Eleven are creeping up the middle, one holding the shield as the other aims a carbine over her head. The shield itself is of Roman style, a convex rectangle with a large boss at the center. Its size provides good defense to those behind it. Mami ducks back into cover and gathers more muskets. "Bebe, get ready!"

" _Turn into cheese! Turn into cheese!"_

The Burner fires her last slug. Mami winds up and swings, launching her little friend at the enemy. Success is confirmed by a startled yelp from the other side. Stepping smartly, the gunner brings her arsenal to bear and lays down a spread salvo. Bullet ribbons bind the foe, ending the impasse. Quiet returns to the chamber, broken only by the _schick-schick_ of Zoya loading shells. A scent of gunsmoke hangs in the air.

Bebe crawls out from under the shield, happily unscathed. _"Appenzeller!"_

"Good work." Eight down, three to go, and not a scratch taken. If this is the best the Sapporo gang can offer, they fall short of their grim legend. Mami steps over the displaced door, noticing a padlock and latch crudely nailed to the inner side. The bound girls watch their captor nervously. "Where are your friends?" she demands.

The shield-bearer shakes her head and mumbles something.

"I'm sorry, I can't hear – "

"Narkom, look out!"

Sudden motion from the left. Mami turns to find a punk samurai rushing at her, neon cherry katana raised for a killing blow. Shock numbs her reflexes. She tries to swing her musket around, not quick enough to deflect the sword.

_Oh no..._

A wave of cold green flame rolls past the gunslinger and sweeps the samurai off her feet. It leaves her screaming in agony on the floor, cloaked in fire that burns without smoke or charring. Mami's beleaguered ears pick up something else between the shrieks. She spins as an assailant in a motorcycle jacket lunges toward the Burner, a karambit knife jutting from her fist like a purple chrome raptor claw. Zoya nearly dodges, but the curving blade slashes her right arm from shoulder to elbow. She and the attacker tumble to the floor.

A door slams on the far side of the cubicles. Mami whips her snaplock in that direction, though no threat appears. The samurai is still burning and screaming. Zoya grapples with the knife girl, using both hands to keep the karambit away from her face. She counterattacks by smashing her knee into her opponent's groin. A snub-nose revolver falls out of the slasher's waistband and lands on Zoya's stomach. Bracing her uninjured arm against the girl's wrist, she snatches the belly gun and jams it under the aggressor's chin.

The shot sounds like a cannon blast. It makes a horrific mess.

Although the damage is grisly, a bullet through the head won't kill a magical girl. Mami ties up the assailant before she can do any more harm and bandages her wound as well. That leaves the burning one, whose pained cries are diminishing. As Mami watches, the samurai reaches out with shaking hands. She becomes strangely calm at the end, her last words full of relief. "You... you're _real..."_

Then she's gone, taken away by the Law of the Cycle.

Bebe saw it too. _"Turned into cheese..."_

"Yes." A regrettable outcome, but at least her suffering is over. Mami approaches her fallen companion. "Hashimoto-san?"

"...Tvoyu mat!" Zoya discards the revolver and pushes herself off the floor, breath hissing through clenched teeth. Her tunic sleeve is drenched in blood.

"Hold still." Mami wraps the laceration as best she can. Her ribbon stems the bleeding, though it won't substitute for sutures. "Is that better?"

"Yeah..." Zoya retrieves the item she dropped when she came under attack. The collection of silver tubes might pass as a musical instrument, were it not for the double handgrips and the crystal sphere of pea soup mounted between them. "My burner," she explains. "I said you wouldn't like it."

After seeing it in action, Mami can only nod. "Katou escaped."

The white-haired girl points across the office. "She went in there. Dead end."

"You're sure?"

"I made sure." Zoya collapses the flamethrower. "Be right back."

The shield girl and her friend couldn't see the samurai's fate from where they lie, but they witnessed the karambit girl's comeuppance. Fear is in their eyes as Mami confronts the pair. "You can deal with me or you can deal with Hashimoto-san," she warns them. "What have you done with the hostages?"

"In there." The shield-bearer jerks her head to the right. "There's four of them."

"I hope you aren't lying," the gunner replies coolly. "I'm really not in the mood... Nagisa, can I leave this to you?"

Bebe grows into a magical girl, clad in a poofy skirt and poncho and holding a trumpet. "I've got it. Please be careful, Mami-san."

Nagisa scurries off as the Burner returns with her shotgun. "Why the kid?" she asks.

Mami restocks her personal armory. "You and I are going after Katou."

Zoya picks up the shield escort's carbine, a short-barreled Kalashnikov with a canvas sling and two magazines held together by duct tape. "Khorosho," she says grimly, unfolding the triangular metal stock. "Follow me."

There's another reason for sending Nagisa to liberate the prisoners: it keeps her away from the girl who had the top of her head blown off. Mami vows not to repeat the mistake which led to that awful mess. The Eleven showed deadly cunning at the last minute, but it was her moment of carelessness that nearly got her decapitated. Zoya saved her at the cost of her own safety. As a veteran magical girl and a role model to novices like Chie, she must do better.

"This is it." Zoya stops in front of another door, of a style unlike the others in the office. Its appearance is weathered, as if it were salvaged from a different building. There's signage stenciled in fading yellow paint.

СИБИРСКАЯ КИМБЕРЛИТОВАЯ  
ТРУБКА ИМЕНИ В. И. ЛЕНИНА  
**1 9 6 1**

ВНИМАНИЕ – ОПАСНАЯ ЗОНА!  
ПОСТОРОННИМ ВХОД ВОСПРЕЩЁН!

The Burner positions herself on the left, stock pressed against her shoulder. "Koroleva says you know about witches."

"Witches?" Mami can guess where this is going. "I do..."

"So you know how it gets weird." Zoya nods toward the handle. "Go ahead."

Mami twists and pulls. Icy wind strikes her face, reeking of petroleum and laden with stinging snowflakes. Squinting to protect her eyes, she drags back the door and peers past its hinges. Beyond the opening lies a narrow, twilit canyon shadowed by sheer cliffs. A gravel road threads down the middle. Two lines of silent, stationary trucks are strung along its length, one pointing in, one pointing out. Deeper inside, she makes out a hint of movement.

" _Beregis!"_

A flash and boom in the distance. Mami hears the crack of a passing projectile and pulls her head in. Zoya brings up the Kalashnikov, bright flame belching from the muzzle as she retaliates. A second shot resounds through the canyon. Mami fires a musket at the origin of the flash, unable to get an exact fix. There's one more blast and then Zoya stops shooting. The engagement ends as abruptly as it began.

Mami magically mends her ringing ears and gingerly takes another look. "Katou was waiting for us," she observes.

"Gone now." The Burner sounds short of breath. "You okay, Narkom?"

"Yes."

"Good..." Zoya slumps against the wall and slides down into a limp-legged heap. "Blyat," she groans. "Really got me."

There's a thumb sized hole in the doorframe and a fist sized hole in her chest. Mami's eyes widen with horror. "Hashimoto-san, you're..!"

The maimed girl makes a noise that isn't laughter. "Dead."

"I'm sorry. This isn't what I wanted to happen."

Zoya shakes her head. "Better me than you," she coughs. "Find the church at the end. Meet me there."

"Church?"

"Can't miss it." Zoya reverses the carbine's magazines and loads the full one. "If Katou's there, use this. Keep the cubes for the finish."

Mami no longer has the heart to refuse. Nor can she deny that restraining nine adversaries is putting a slow yet noticeable drain on her magic reserve. "I'll be careful," she promises, lifting the Russian gun from the Burner's hand. "Will you be all right?"

"I'll manage." Zoya shudders and suddenly vomits up a stream of black liquid. It pools on the floor, displaying an iridescent sheen as her spilled blood turns the same color. "Ugh!"

The blond girl feels her own stomach lurch. "What is it?"

"Bianka's coming..." Zoya convulses, expelling another gout. "Go, Narkom! Ni shagu nazad!"

Mami sprints across the threshold, seeking cover behind the rear fender of the first truck on the right. She doesn't look back as the door swings closed, leaving her alone in the storm. It's all terra incognita from here.

There's still work to do before she goes further. To start she weaves a hooded cloak, wrapping it close around her body to screen herself against the blizzard. Then she checks her borrowed weapon. The plastic grip and plywood handguard present rough, alien textures to her touch. The sights are simple and don't show up well in the canyon's gloom. A Sailor Jupiter phone strap dangles from the front sling loop, what could be an innocent decoration or an ironic statement.

Next she examines her surroundings. The door she came from is set in the center of a high concrete wall, flanked by larger gates. Fine snow fills the corners and recesses, though the bitter wind scours it from the ground. Murky sulfur-yellow clouds blanket the sky between the clifftops. There's something... _off_ about the cliffs themselves. They bend and slide as she turns her head, like she's viewing them through a fishbowl.

This is a barrier, the lair of a witch. She understands the concept, but neither Homura's intricate false city nor Nagisa's description of other labyrinths quite prepared her for the experience. In a world now lost, witches were both the prey and the ultimate form of magical girls. Barriers were their refuge as they sowed despair and cast tragedy upon unwitting victims. Their predators tracked the lairs and stalked the creatures within, never suspecting the grief seeds they so prized were former soul gems.

Things are different in the new world. The witch is on Mami's side, the barrier a trap for a desperate fugitive... Not that she expects a walk in the park while Katou Sakura remains on the run. Katou won't be able to run much more, and she's already beginning to lash out like a cornered beast. With that in mind, Mami moves on.

Loose gravel crunches beneath her boots as she ducks and weaves between the trucks, minimizing her exposure. The vehicles are open-bed models, two or three axles each, with such unfamiliar marques as _ГАЗ_ , _ЗиЛ_ , and _КАМАЗ_. The paint on their once colorful cabs is peeling and rust-streaked. Those in the outbound lane sit empty, but the returning trucks on the left are loaded with piles of crushed rock.

" _Mami-san!"_ It's Nagisa, communicating by telepathy. _"I have the hostages! Everyone's all right!"_

" _Well done,"_ Mami responds. _"Get them away from here as quick as you can. You remember where to wait for me, right?"_

" _Of course I do. See you there, Mami-san!"_

The road slopes, descending at a shallow angle. Wind howls in Mami's ears and tugs at her cloak. Coming around the side of a six-wheeler, she sees a long, thin object jutting over the next truck's tailgate. The gunner advances with caution and climbs up on the fender for a look. It's a single shot rifle, roughly finished and marked in Korean. The barrel is as long as her leg and tipped with a massive baffle brake. Three spent casings lie on the cargo bed. Gauging by eye, Mami puts the caliber at about fifteen millimeters.

It's an ugly reminder that the way these girls fight and the things they fight for go against all she believes in. She doesn't expect every battle to be a showpiece of dueling artistry, but certain courtesies and customs should be upheld. Stabbing rivals in the back, shooting from the shadows, abducting innocents... These acts can't be forgiven, even if bringing justice requires her to let down her own standards. She'll be glad to put this night behind her.

Since Katou left the gun here, it may be broken or out of ammo. Mami locks it down with ribbons, just to be safe, and keeps going. Soon she discovers the source of the petroleum vapors: the road is smothered by a dense layer of black oil. It seems to be heated from underneath, as it remains viscous despite the cold and bubbles are coming up in a few spots. She has no choice but to give up her shelter and jump from one truck to the next. The derelicts are sunk to their axles before long, and then deeper still. Luckily the buried path evens out before the oil renders it unnavigable.

A cab roof creaks as Mami lands and leaps again. The cargo in the left lane becomes more varied, pieces of decaying machinery standing out amid the rubble. She recognizes few, save the hulk of a stationary engine with a large flywheel and a bent chimney pipe. Down the line there's a stranded flatbed carrying a primitive farm tractor. Shreds of a red banner trail from the steering wheel, fluttering in the storm.

" _The power of a witch is impressive, isn't it?"_

Mami has company, and not the good kind. She frowns. _"What are you doing here, Kyuubey?"_

" _Observing."_ The little alien makes his way over the other lane, keeping pace with her. _"These machines are not found in this country, yet Hashimoto Zoya recreated them with perfect detail. What purpose does it serve?"_

" _I wouldn't know,"_ Mami answers tersely. _"And I don't think_ _ **you**_ _should be snooping around."_

" _Why are you angry at me?"_ The incubator stops to scratch behind his ear. _"Shouldn't you be upset that Akemi Homura is creating witches? Isn't that against Kaname Madoka's wish – "_

A glistening blue-black arm reaches out of the sludge, grabs Kyuubey by the tail and pulls him under. While Mami's not sorry to be rid of the pest, the swiftness of the act leaves her a little disconcerted. She instinctively keeps a wary eye on the morass as she proceeds. More truckloads of junk come and go, including the separated hull and turret of a tank. Mami also notes articles of detritus floating on the oil: comic books, fairy tales, a bloodstained pair of panties.

Only a lessening of the winter wind heralds her arrival at the church. The canyon simply ends, and the truck lines with it. Some digging machines are parked around the excavation site. Behind them a wide bank of stone steps rises from the morass. The church itself stands half encased in solid rock, buried and then unearthed. The architecture is definitely Eastern Orthodox, though its shining red domes are capped with stars instead of crosses.

Mami jumps off the hood of a bulldozer and ascends the stairs. Closer inspection reveals the church is the source of the oil, dark tongues of the stuff seeping below the front door and trickling down the steps to the greater pool. Frieze scenes above the entryway depict laborers, farmers and marching troops under the words _СЛАВА ТРУДУ_ and _ВСЯ ВЛАСТЬ СОВЕТАМ_. Verses picked out in gold adorn the door. The third and fourth lines recur in each stanza.

ВЕДЬ ОТ ТАЙГИ ДО БРИТАНСКИХ МОРЕЙ  
КРАСНАЯ АРМИЯ ВСЕХ СИЛЬНЕЙ!

"Narkom!"

Mami looks and sees Zoya wading out of the pool. The oil runs off quicker than water, leaving not a drop on her body. Her grievous wounds have disappeared. "Is Katou inside?" the gunfighter asks.

Zoya nods. "I locked her in."

It's likely the gangster will shoot as soon as they open the door. Mami's not keen to deal with that again. "Any suggestions?"

"I got a plan." The Burner sits down on the flagstones. "Recharge first. I'll watch your back."

"All right. Thank you."

Something's changed. Mami feels it as she unwraps her soul gem and the case of grief cubes. Her teammate has been distant and taciturn all along, but there's a new edge to the aloofness. Kyuubey's intrusion bothers her as well. Even if he was honest about merely observing the barrier, his motives are suspect. Mami has no doubt he'd let all magical girls turn into witches if he could find a way. To think she used to consider him a friend...

_Shouldn't you be upset that Akemi Homura is creating witches?_

If the monsters of old were being resurrected by anyone except Homura, she would be first in line to end it. What she understands, and what Kyuubey must also understand even if he feigns otherwise, is that the devil's witches and those of ages past have a crucial difference. Girls who make a contract with Homura transform of their own will, free to switch back and forth as they choose. Their purpose is not to spread darkness in the world, nor do they lure humans to their deaths.

Zoya removes the Minebea's magazine and lays it in the black fluid oozing past. It comes out with an even coat that gives a greenish luster. She repeats the process with her pistol and some shotgun shells. Mami's cubes leech the last wisp of corruption from her gem and she puts them away. "I'm finished," she says. "Let's end this."

They rise at the same time. "Here's the plan," announces Zoya. "I send a distraction in front. Katou hides in her armor, we crack it, you tie her up. Then you do what you want."

"I want to give her a warning," replies Mami. "After that we can leave."

"Fine." The Burner motions to the left of the door. "Stand over there. Pull when I tell you."

Mami positions herself. "You're certain she'll use the armor?"

"No choice." Zoya turns to the oil pool and cups her hands around her mouth. _"Vperod, muzhiki! V ataku!"_

They come singly and in pairs, the figures on the church wall brought to life in moving metal: workmen wielding hammers, peasant women with sickles, soldiers in helmets. The automata move with stiff, inhuman gaits, faces cast in expressions of heroic resolve. Sloshing turns to cacophonous clanking as they march up the stairs. It doesn't drown out the statues' voices. _"Belaya armiya, chornyy Baron snova gotovyat nam tsarskiy tron..."_

Zoya grabs the door's right hand pull ring. "Get ready!"

" _No ot taygi do britanskikh morey, Krasnaya Armiya vsekh silney!"_

"Now!"

Mami and the Burner heave together. Twin halves swing open on groaning hinges. Rifle fire punctuates the familiars' chorus. A bullet clips the leading worker's cold, hard cheek, scattering sparks. The monumental masses tramp forward unrelentingly. Mami listens to the marching and singing and shooting until it all finally stops. Then she hears a series of heavy, reverberating clangs.

"Got her," says Zoya.

Mami peeks inside. It doesn't look like the Orthodox interiors she's seen in books, which tended towards dizzying ostentation. Zoya's church is furnished in a reserved modernist style using red brick and white marble. As per the eastern tradition, there are no pews. The nave is lined with pairs of plain columns and lit by overhead fixtures. Three banners, yellow on red, hang between the pillars.

ЗА НЕВЫПОЛНЕНИЕ ПРИКАЗА – РАССТРЕЛ!  
ЗА НАРУШЕНИЕ ДИСЦИПЛИНЫ – РАССТРЕЛ!  
ЗА ПРОЯВЛЕНИЕ ТРУСОСТИ – РАССТРЕЛ!

The vast sanctuary beyond the nave is occupied, though not by an altar. A tiered installation of brown and black stone dominates that space, duplicating the mausoleum on Moscow's Red Square in every detail but one. The trail of oil on the floor reaches all the way to the entrance beneath the occupant's name.

**Б Ь Я Н К А**

A foreign object, a sort of narrow, truncated pyramid made of blue metal, stands on the tomb's roof. The workmen are gathered around it, beating its sides with steel tools as the peasants and soldiers look on from below. Katou Sakura's vaunted armor, Mami presumes. The familiars aren't even scratching it.

"Needs a strong attack," Zoya calls over the incessant hammering. "You want to try?"

Mami nods. "Leave it to me."

The Burner grips her submachine gun in both hands and quicksteps up the right side, between the wall and the columns. Mami follows her lead on the left, passing under mounted icons. She sees no Christ or Mary among the portraits, only pictures of men: a fierce one with a goatee, a cruel one with a mustache, a bald one brandishing a shoe. The girls halt at the boundary of nave and chancel.

Mami sets the Kalashnikov against the last column and summons a ribbon array. The strips twist and fold over one another, splicing into a magical mimic of a Long Tom with carriage. Its engraved, silver inlaid barrel is as long as a bus and wide enough to swallow a cantaloupe. Mami checks the target alignment, ducks behind solid stone and covers her head.

" _TIRO FINALE!"_

A light brighter than summer sun flashes through her eyelids. The overpressure feels like being punched from all directions at once. The cannon falls to bits, confetti scraps flung away by the blast wave. Mami pivots, grabs a fresh musket and fires a binding round at her dazed enemy. Only then does she pause to wipe off the blood trickling down her upper lip. "One of your friends was taken by the Law of the Cycle," she informs the Eleven's disabled leader. "Another was badly wounded. I hoped to avoid violence, but you left me no choice."

"Nnngh..!" Katou strains against her confinement, face contorting in rage. "Who paid you to hit us, you bitch? _Who!?"_

"I'm not being paid," says Mami evenly. "Just answering a plea for help."

"Don't fuck with me!" The boss tries to push herself towards her dropped automatic rifle, but goes nowhere. "It's Teresa, isn't it? She's taking our territory!"

The gunslinger folds her arms. "I have no business with Teresa. All I wanted was to free the hostages."

"Why would you give a shit about them?" Katou snarls. "Who do you think you are?"

"I'm a magical girl who believes in justice. One who fights to protect people, not exploit them."

Her words draw a bark of derision. "You're rich, aren't you? It's always the rich ones who get off on playing hero... You act so high and mighty but you'll do anything to win! How much did you pay to get the two-faced halfbreed on your side?" The miscreant's voice rises to an accusing screech. "I know you're there, you little slut! Don't hide from me!"

"Stop it..."

Mami glances across the nave at Zoya. She's facing the exit with her back to a pillar, her naturally pale features gone almost colorless. The gangster's slurs cut deep. "You should consider your own actions," the cloaked shooter retorts. "You've clearly forgotten the responsibilities of a magical girl. Even if you only fight for yourself, you have no right to endanger outsiders."

Katou turns livid. "You think we _want_ to live this way, you self-righteous bimbo? You think we _like_ begging and stealing? You weren't there when the Russians took our land! You weren't there when they came to murder us in our beds! Who are you to judge us? _Who the fuck are you?"_

"I – "

The captive isn't listening. "And _you,"_ she spits, turning her wrath on Zoya once more. "I should have known you'd sell us out! Did you forget how you came crawling to us? How you begged us to take you in after Snezhinskaya made you her _bitch?_ Look what being nice to the Russians' whore did for us!"

"Stop it!"

There's no stopping her. "You're Blondie's pet now, is that it? Going to eat her out and cash her out like you did – "

" _STOP!"_

"Hashimoto-san!"

Green fire spills forth. Zoya throws down the flamethrower and flees, choking back a sob. Katou doesn't burn as long as her samurai subordinate, but she screams just as loud before the Law takes her. Mami runs to the doorway and finds the Burner at the top of the stairs.

It's not the cold that's got Zoya shivering. "I just wanted it to stop," she whimpers. "I didn't mean to..!"

Mami may be on thin ice. How thin, she doesn't know. "I... suppose you had reasons to hate her."

"Her?" Zoya vehemently shakes her head. "Not her, _them._ Snezhinskaya, Polikarpova, all of them! They killed my friends, took my home..." Another sob wracks her slender frame.

Danger be damned, says the gunner's conscience. She takes three steps forward and puts her arms around the younger girl. "I'm sorry. I didn't know."

The Burner clings to her as to a buoy in the sea. "There were four of us in Kushiro. Two more came from Hakodate to help. All gone now."

"I had no idea," Mami admits. "Having it brought up like this must be very painful."

"Thought I could deal with it." Zoya's grief is tinged by frustration. "Thought I was _strong."_

The gunfighter knows it's not always so easy. "You might be stronger than me, Hashimoto-san. I don't think I could go on alone." She gently pats her comrade's back. "Don't let yourself lose hope. Whatever happens, you'll see your friends again someday."

"You're wrong."

Mami pushes back against the pessimism. "Please, trust me. I know things look bleak, but the Law of the Cycle – "

" _My people aren't there!"_ Zoya tears herself from the embrace, withdrawing to the very edge of the steps. "The Russians broke their gems! Your Law didn't save them!" Her anger fizzles and burns out. "No one's waiting for me..."

The rumors were bad. The truth is worse. Its revelation strikes Mami numb. "Why?" she asks. "Why would they do such a thing?"

"Snezhinskaya planned it that way," the Burner replies. "Total liquidation. One bullet to do the work of twenty cubes." She tightens her fists to control the trembling. "First they came at night with silencers. When we fought back, they trapped and starved us."

Of all the unwritten rules handed down through generations of magical girls, none are more sacrosanct than the prohibition against destroying soul gems. To deny the Law's mercy for the sake of coldblooded expedience is an injustice above and beyond the sins of the Sapporo Eleven. It's an atrocity. No lesser word will do.

The Law itself would have been powerless against this evil, but now there's someone else who might act. "Does Akemi-san know?"

"Yeah. She says if I do more jobs, she'll let me go back."

"Back?"

Zoya's face hardens. "To burn the Russians," she answers, wiping away her tears. "Hokkaido's our land. I won't let them keep it."

What does one say to that? A terrible wrong has been done, but can Zoya the Burner set it right? Vengeance and justice are not synonymous. The former may produce the latter in its course, or it may leave greater harm in its wake. Fiery retribution won't bring back Zoya's friends, nor alter the ultimate fate of her tormentors. The most she can hope for is to reclaim an empty home. It will be a hollow victory.

Mami says none of this. She has a feeling Zoya already knows it. "I don't know what I can do to help you – "

The Burner cuts her off. "Don't," she says firmly. "It's not your fight." The ghost of a sad smile graces her lips. "You're all right, Mamuchka. I don't want you to die too." She motions towards the church. "You can go out the back. I'll stay and clean up."

Mami understands she's being dismissed. "What about the rest of the Eleven?"

"Let them go. They'll fall apart without Katou."

"I see." It doesn't seem right to let things end this way, yet the gunner sees little choice. "Thank you for all your help, Hashimoto-san." There _is_ at least one thing she can do, she realizes. "If you ever pass through Mitakihara, come see me. I live at Number Twelve, Hakubai Towers."

Zoya nods. "I'd like that. Do svidaniya, Mamuchka."

The statues' clanking starts up again as they march through the nave in single file. Mami is surprised to hear the melody of the _Marseillaise_ accompany their words. _"Otrechomsya ot starogo mira! Otryakhnem yego prakh s nashikh nog! Nam ne nuzhno zlatogo kumira, nenavisten nam tsarskiy chertog!"_

There's one door beyond the tomb in the sanctuary. It opens onto a Chiba street, a gateway back to the world of the ordinary. Back to Mitakihara, Nagisa and Mami's simple, comfortable life.

" _Vstavay, podymaysya, rabochiy narod! Vstavay na vraga, lyud golodnyy! Razdaysya, klich mesti narodnoy! Vperod! Vperod! Vperod! Vperod, vperod!"_


End file.
